Dreaming of a Better Life
by Salek
Summary: Falling asleep on a perfectly happy life with George, Alanna awakens in a far different situation...and that's *before* old feelings begin to resurface.
1. A most peculiar dream

A/N Hello…!

A new fic for me, just something that came to me. I'm sure the idea has been done before, but heck…I don't know. It just seemed to fit so perfectly in my head, that even if it had been done before I had to try it! ^_^ (Besides, my other story that's up here is a Convent story, so who am I to talk about originality?)

Anyway – if anyone reads My Other Fic (MoF -_^), I've just run into a little rough patch (Heavy chapter. Ugh, lots of emotional turmoil, angst and tearing Alanna to pieces. Mwahahaha), but I'll get it done fairly soon. But I wanted to squeeze this idea out first – so…yeah! _Please_ tell me what you think of it! The more reviews I get the faster I'll update it.. So if you don't like it, don't review!

Disclaimer – Not mine. Yadda yadda. Though I do own the annoying butler-type-guy. Lucky.

Rating – Again annoyed with the ridiculous FF.net ratings. Mature PG13 for this. Still wanting a M15+ rating.

**Dreaming of a Better Life** – Salek 

"Wake up you oaf!" Alanna roared, a good natured smirk dancing across her face. "If I'm forced to get up this early in the middle of winter, then you certainly are going to get up with me!"

"Huh?" came the confused mumble from her husband – well, she assumed it was. The covers were all over him, and she could only see a leg at the moment. "'Lanna? What are you-"

"Up, up, up!" she grabbed one of the corners of the sheet, and yanked it off the bed. George's body came into view now, his well muscled back now uncovered. He groaned and attempted to bury his face deeper into the pillows. She narrowed her eyes at his back; the insolence! "If you don't get up now, you're going to regret it, laddy-me-love." She warned.

"G'way." He mumbled, "S'cold, and I was 'aving a nice dream about a wife who didn't order me about as much."

"Oh that's it." She walked over to the window, pushing it open with a squeal of un-oiled hinges. A thick layer of snow sat on the sill just outside; while the Swoop didn't normally get particularly cold, this year appeared to have been somewhat different, snow had begun falling weeks ago – most unusual. At the moment, however, Alanna welcomed the frosty conditions. Scooping up a big handful of the cold and wet substance, she turned back to George. He hadn't moved, his back still presenting what Alanna saw as a perfect target. "Don't complain, now, honey. Just remember that you brought this on yourself."

"Too early t'be up." Alanna grinned maniacally. With a simple twist of her wrist, she dumped her handful of snow into the small of his back. His yell could have been heard in Corus, she imagined, as he threw himself out of their bed. Eyes wide in shock, he ran around the room, arms flailing about. She began to giggle, and he rounded on her. "That," he seethed, pointing a finger at his wife, "was uncalled for."

"Maybe." she grinned at him coyly, "But it was fun."

He narrowed his eyes at her, and her grin widened. She knew he wouldn't stay angry with her, if he even were now. He could never stay angry with her for long, especially not when she wore _that_ particular expression. It appeared she was right, when a smirk appeared on his face. "Well then, maybe we'll have to see about punishing you."

"Oh?" she asked, innocently. "And what _exactly_ would that entail?"

It was his turn to grin now, as he moved towards her. She always enjoyed seeing him like this; playful, the torchlight playing over his chest. She felt a warmth spread through her that was so opposed to the cold in the air it was almost frightening. Of course, George could _always_ make her feel like this. "Oh, just a little encore of last night, per'aps?" he whispered to her as his arms circled her waist. "Keep the cold away and all that." He kissed her then, and she melted in his arms.

_Mmm,_ Alanna thought happily as the two of them fell onto the bed, _Perhaps I should _always_ wake him like that…_

***

Her happy mood didn't seem to last particularly long, however.

After the mornings…activities with George, she'd only had time to perform a scant handful of the exercises she forced herself to carry out every morning. She was a bit concerned about that; lately she'd often been unable to go through the entire sequence, her time being taken up by other things. Today was no exception, with a servant rushing out to meet her almost as soon as she had begun her warm up. 

"M'Lady!" the man called. "M'Lady I have urgent news for you!"

She sighed. "Yes? What is it?"

Startled by her tone, the man didn't answer for a moment, before regaining his composure. "M'Lord seeks to inform you that young Lord Thom has been frightening the serving girls in the dining hall again. He requests your presence as soon as you are able, M'Lady."

Another heavy sigh escaped her, both at the uptight man and his news. In all likelihood, George had told the man to 'Go get Alanna and bring her here'; she'd never been comfortable with the stuffy formality that many of the servants here at the Swoop seemed to love. But, there was little she could do about it; best to leave it be. Thom, on the other hand, she could definitely do something about. He was still fairly young, just over eight summers, but he was already a handful. While he – thankfully – wasn't as adventurous as either of his parents, his Gift seemed to get him in just as much trouble. Of late, his 'antics' involved summoning what appeared to be ghosts to haunt the servants he didn't like. He always denied doing anything, and they'd been reluctant to knuckle down on him as of yet; his siblings had never responded well to strict rules, so they had assumed that it was best to leave Thom be, for the most part. But perhaps it was to be different. "Inform George that I'll be there as soon as I can." She told the servant, who – after stiffly bowing, scurried off. 

She sneered at his back, before getting into her exercises. _Focus…_

***

Rubbing at an ache in her back, Alanna ventured back into her and George's room. The 'talk' with Thom had been…difficult. It was always hard to punish those you love, and the stringent rules she'd placed on Thom's activities were sure to cause both him and herself a lot of pain and angst in the future. She'd considered sending him off to the Palace early; to set him up as a Page earlier than he would have been required to leave at ten summers of age, but she didn't want him to think they were sending him away. It was strange, actually, that he had expressed a desire to go to Corus. She and George had both assumed that he would wish to hone his Gift at the City of the Gods; but Thom had instead stated that he wanted to follow in his mother's and brother's footsteps; to become a knight. 

She was proud of that, actually, of his decision. It would have been easier for him to travel to the City of the Gods and become like his uncle; to simply use his natural ability in the Gift to coast through. But he showed real Trebond courage, she thought, to take the harder road. George had just called him 'an obstinate boy', though she knew he meant it as a great compliment; he'd married her, after all, one of the most obstinate people in the realm, so he must consider it a virtue.

Smiling, she flopped down on her bed. It had been a very long day so far, and it wasn't even midday yet! Maybe if she just shut her eyes for a moment…

"I 'ope you're not goin' t'fall asleep, lass." George's voice carried across the room. She tried to envision him in her mind; leaning up against the doorframe, arms crossed, smirk playing across his handsome face. She cracked an eye open, grinning at her almost perfectly accurate mental image. "What are you smiling about?"

"Nothing," she mumbled. "Just thinking."

He smiled, and moved over to the bed, sitting beside her. "I never would have imagined you could do such a thing." He whispered softly, "Oof! What was that for?" he asked, rubbing the spot where her fist had slammed into his midriff.

"You're too charming for your own good sometimes, Cooper." She told him, grinning as her husband burst into laughter.

"Aye?" he told her in between chuckles, "Never thought I'd 'ear you saying that, 'Lanna."

***

Dinner was an almost frightfully formal affair; The Baron and Baroness of Pirates Swoop being required in full regalia as they 'entertained a high and noble delegate from Carthak'. The forced laughter, the utterly boring anecdotes; Alanna couldn't remember being more bored in her entire life.

Well, she probably could if she put her mind to it, but her mind had apparently been melted by the man's incredibly dull, incredibly egocentric and most importantly, incredibly _long_ tale about his adventures 'on the high seas', as he put it. Of course, it was actually about a River Cruiser, from what Alanna could tell, but she'd just nodded and politely smiled whenever the man looked like he wanted a response. She _hated_ this aspect of a nobles duties, and she would have refused to take the man in…if only she was permitted. She grimaced as she remembered Jon's insistence on this issue; _As my Champion you are afforded certain rights,_ she could remember him saying, _but certain responsibilities must also be met._ Ugh. If she'd have known being the King's Champion entailed entertaining foreign nobles more than actually _fighting_ for the King, then she'd never have taken the role. Maybe she could have been the Commander of the King's Own. Raoul certainly seemed to enjoy that position…although it would have meant even longer periods away from her family. Maybe not then.

"What a night." She was exhausted, not to mention cold. She hoped George would be retiring to their chambers soon – she didn't like to fall asleep without him beside her, but she was just _so_ tired. Maybe she should skip her exercises tomorrow morning; lie in late with George. Snuggling together under the covers. Her face burned at the thought, though she sadly realised that she'd been neglecting her exercises enough as it was. She had to stay in shape, and doing so required commitment, focus and drive. "Any self-respecting enemy of Tortall should attack only in summer, and in the mid-afternoon. Then we all get a lie in."

"Aye lass," George laughed from the doorway, "And I suppose that you all should pad your swords and fight one by one?"

"Mmm, sounds good to me." She smiled, before crooking a finger at him. "Come here, you."

"Why should I?" he asked, slyly. 

She just patted the spot on the bed next to her. A wide grin spread over his face, and he almost _leapt_ into bed. She supposed that she wasn't all _that_ exhausted, on second thought…

***

Lying in bed, her husbands arms draped around her, she couldn't imagine a time when she felt more content, more at peace. Well, for the moment, anyway. She knew that tomorrow was going to be just as tiring as today was – the Carthaki Delegate was still here, after all, and she'd have to keep an eye on Thom. But for the moment, a few hours after she'd once again shared her love with her Noble Thief, she was happy.

Such sentiments are seemingly not, however, seen as 'appropriate' for The Chosen of the Gods. Fate revolved around Alanna, of course, and tonight was not to be an exception. 

As she lay there, a small smile on her face, she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. Shifting quietly in their bed so as not to disturb George, she glanced out of the window. A red rune, three intercrossed and burning lines, seemed to be suspended in the air. She frowned in wonderment, before the rune seemed to disappear. For a moment, it seemed to have burned into her very mind, the red lines tingeing her sight even after it had apparently faded from the air, but the afterimage too disappeared after a moment. Confused, she looked around the room once more; nothing seemed to be out of place.

_Another thing to examine in the morning,_ Alanna thought in dismay. _At least nothing seems to have happened yet. Maybe I just imagined it?_

Mentally shrugging, she closed her eyes, and had soon drifted off to sleep; her mind soothed by the reassuring presence of George's heartbeat reverberating in her ears.

***

Warm sunlight streamed across her face, and she scrunched up her nose as it _burrowed_ its way into her mind. She wanted to sleep a little longer, just a little longer. Don't let the sun force you t-__

_Goddess! The sun?! How late was it? Why hadn't she been woken earlier?_

She could feel George's arms around her, so he must still be sleeping too. She'd already slept in fairly late, it seemed, so what was the harm in snuggling with her love for a little while longer. A small patch of his stubble was rubbing against her exposed shoulder, which she found odd. George rarely went a day without shaving; he knew that she didn't like him with a beard. Maybe she'd have to force him into the barbers stool again. She smiled to herself, and tried to hug his arms tighter around herself. 

"Mmm." he murmured from beside her head. His voice sounded…slightly odd, too. She frowned, and decided to open her eyes. Her lids cracked open, and at first all she could see was blinding light as sunlight poured in through a window in front of her face. A window where no window should be, she thought, confused. Blinking, hoping to block the bright light, she glanced around at the rest of the room.

In a word, it was _different._ Pale stone where there should be timber, wall friezes where there should be hangings, and most importantly of all – the Conte crest where there should be the heraldry of Pirate's Swoop. _Just what was going on here?!_

George shifted behind her, his arms coming away from her as he tuned onto his back. She opened her mouth to talk to him, before she took a closer look at the bedding they were in. This wasn't even their bed!

"George!" she whispered harshly, beginning to roll over to peer at her husband. "George! Wake up! You have to see wh-"

She stopped suddenly, eyes wide open in sheer – was it astonishment? Horror? At the least, it was a _shock._ Lying next to her, the man who had been holding her so intimately just moments before, was not her husband.

It was Jon.

"What the _hell _ is going on?"

He mumbled softly to himself, then rolled over again so his back was facing her. _By the Gods! What was happening?_ Jon had to know, he _had_ to know what had happened. Maybe he'd even done something to her! She poked him in the back, hoping that he would have an answer, would know _something_.

"Thayet? What are you doing?" he groaned softly, before stretching his arms out above his head. She got a good look at his physique then, not that she wanted to be looking, of course! Still, he was slightly more built than George was- _This is not the time to be comparing your husband's body to your ex-lover's!_ she thought angrily to herself as her began to roll over. She put on her most outraged glare – if she could have put her hands on her hips while she was lying horizontally, she would have done so. She had to settle for a glare. When his eyes fell on her, they widened almost comically. "Great Mithros!"

"What the _hell _ is going on?" she repeated.

"Alanna?" he asked, dumbly. "Is that you?"

She rolled her eyes. "Of course it's me you great idiot! Now tell me what the heck happened!"

"How-?"

"I don't know how, you buffoon!" She grated her teeth. "I don't know why I'm in _your_ bed half naked when I should be with George in our own bed at the Swoop! I hoped _you_ might have some answers!"

He just stared at her for the moment, mouth wide open. "I-I don't know." He frowned, before looking around the room quickly. "Something looks a little different around here. Maybe- Wait. Where's Thayet?"

"I don't know!" she almost shouted, her exasperation getting the best of her. "Maybe she's outside! Hiding at this wonderful joke."

Jon nodded slowly, before he shot a look under the covers at himself. With a quick squeak, Alanna made sure all of her was _well_ over on her own side of the bed. He looked at her for a moment, before shaking his head wistfully. "You'll need to look away while I, uh, get dressed." He told her, gesturing down at his body.

"Huh?" she asked, confused, before his words sunk in. She blushed like the sun, "Oh. Uh, sure." Shifting in the bed while making sure the covers still stayed clumped around her was a difficult task, but she managed to force herself to stare out of the window near her. As soon as she did so, a shift in weight from beside her told her that Jon had pushed out of bed. "So do you have any idea of what might have happened?" she asked as she heard rustling sounds from behind her.

"Not as such." Came the muffled reply. 

She frowned, annoyed. "Why not?"

"Huh?!" he gasped, the rustling sounds stopping – he must have paused while dressing to get the proper incredulity into his voice. "You expect _me_ to know what happened to you? What happened to Thayet?"

"Of course I do," she mumbled, suddenly unconvinced. "You _are_ the King."

"So?"

"So you're supposed to know stuff." _Oh very convincing._

He scoffed at that. "Sure, Alanna. Blame it all on my; you do that well."

"And what's _that_ supposed to mean?" She turned around then, to give him the full blast of her glare, before she realised he probably wasn't finished changing. Luckily enough for her – though a tiny part of her questioned that – he seemed to have quickly thrown on a shirt and tunic, so he was 'decent', as they would have said all those years ago. 

He shook his head, "Never mind." He turned then, and noticed that she was looking at him. He frowned at her, "Were you looking all that time?"

"What?" her mouth fell open, "No! Of course not! I'm a happily married woman, Jon!" He mumbled something under his breath that she couldn't hear – "Excuse me? And what was that?"

He raised his hands. "Nothing, nothing."

She glared at him. "Right. Well, you go check outside, see if anything gives us a clue as to what's happening. And, uh…" she frowned. "I'm probably going to need some clothes."

Jon smiled softly, which to be honest, made her slightly uncomfortable. Was he-? No. He couldn't be. "You can wear some of Thayet's things, if you want."

She grimaced. "All dresses, right?"

Nodding slightly, he made his way over to one of the dressers. He stopped in front of it. "This is kind of odd."

"What?"

"I don't remember Thayet having something like this in here." He motioned to the dresser, before shrugging slightly. "No, wait – I remember she had some of her specially made breeches in here. They were in one of her wardrobes." He grinned, "Of course, they'll probably look like the clothes of a Jester on you, but-"

She ground her teeth. "Just find me some clothes, Jon, or I'll stab you."

"With a pitch like that, it's surprising how little admirer's you have." He said softly, obviously amused with himself. She glared daggers at his back, wishing that she had both clothes and a knife. She was so focused on imagining gruesome, horrible tortures on the man in front of her that she didn't at first notice his sudden similarity to a statue. 

"What's the matter?" she asked, worriedly. 

"Just, all this." He muttered, indicating the dresser. "I don't recognise any of these."

"Any of what?"

"Any of these clothes. They're not anything Thayet's worn."

"What do you mean?" she asked, very worried now. She wrapped the blanket about her waist, hoping that the shirt of George's she wore over her chest wouldn't ride up, and trudged over to Jon's side. He was pawing through a bunch of what she considered to be very fashionable, not to mention comfortable, breeches and shirts. There was another drawer full of underthings, which again she considered to be at the height of style mixed with practicality. "These aren't her's?"

Startled, Jon looked at her with wide eyes. "Uhh," he stuttered, though she couldn't really understand why, before he shook his head. "No. They're not."

"Then whose are t-" she stopped, a thought suddenly striking her. Herself in Jon's bed, a room full of somewhat unfamiliar furniture, dressers full of clothes that were not Thayet's, and what she considered to be fashionable…

A sudden knock sent them both jumping. "Quick!" Jon hissed, "We've got to hide you! It's bad enough Thayet's gone, we don't need a servant spreading a rumour about the King and a half naked woman!"

She almost shouted at him at the tone he was taking, before she realised that not only was he right, but that she'd have to hurry. She tried to quickly waddle over to the bed, to hide under it or something, but it was hard work moving fast in a skirt-of-sheet. 

In fact, she needn't have bothered, as the door opened without Jon responding to the knock. Who would do such a thing?

"Morning Jon!" Gary stood in the doorway, pulling the door shut behind him as he entered. _Oh Goddess! _Just what she needed. It would have been bad enough if it was just another servant, but someone who actually _knew_ of the history between Jon and herself? Things just couldn't get more complicated, could they! Gary turned to her then, her expecting his mouth to drop open in shock, but he just smiled at her. "Morning Alanna. How are you both?"

Alanna was still somewhat flabbergasted, but luckily Jon was at the ready. "We're both good, Gary." He glanced over at her then, quirking an eyebrow, before adding hesitatingly. "Uhm, yourself?"

"Fine, fine." Gary replied, "I see I'm a little, uh, early today." He said, giving a sharp nod towards Alanna. A smile spread across his face, "You two celebrating again?"

She frowned, mouthing 'Celebrating?' silently to Jon, who shrugged. Gary too frowned slightly, but Jon managed to fob him off with questions that she assumed were fairly routine. She wasn't paying much attention, her attention more focused on just what had happened to her. She had gone to sleep at the Swoop, happily entwined with George. Only to awaken here in Corus. _Happily entwined with Jon_, her mind offered, though she didn't like the imagery that thought provoked. But- Something was tickling her mind, something she had seen last night. She couldn't remember for now- maybe she'd ask Jon. At least he seemed to be 'normal' as well – that was a small miracle at least. She didn't think she would have enjoyed being so confused alone.

She was brought back to reality as Jon coughed heavily. "Uhh, Gary." He asked his Prime Minister (She had been paying enough attention to realise that at least that remained the same). "Let me ask you a question." He grimaced, as if awaiting a blow, something she came to understand as she heard his next words. "Do you know who Thayet is?"

Gary frowned. "Thayet? Wasn't she one of those Yamani nobles or something?"

"Perhaps from Sarain?" Jon proffered, face falling. 

"Oh yeah! That's it!" Gary smiled, "You've got a better memory than me at those kinds of things. Never forget a pretty face, eh?" he nudged Jon with his elbow, before all the blood drained from his face. He turned to her, a hesitant smile dancing at his lips – "Ah, no offence, Alanna."

"Why would I take offence at that?" she asked him, confused.

He was obviously confused as well now, frown furrowing his brow. "Well, uhm, because…" he trailed off, arms gesticulating wildly. "Y'know."

"No, I don't, Gary." She crossed her arms. "Tell me." Wincing internally at the way she sounded, Alanna knew it would be best to get as much information as she could as soon as she could. 

"Well, you're not exactly the most, uhh…" he winced again as if expecting physical retribution for his next words, "_Open minded_ of wives, Alanna. I mean, Raoul was telling me that you almost challenged that Lady Yves to a duel. That one which was flirting with Jon. Remember?" Her mouth dropped open in shock. She was _married _to _Jon_?! Gary took her shocked look as something completely different, throwing up his hands in a sign of surrender "But not like you do it all the time, of course. I mean, I'm sure Yves deserved that, well, whatever you did to her. Not that you did anything to her!" he babbled.

She glared at him, still trying to process this piece of information.

"I think I'll, uh, be going now. If it's alright with you two." Gary didn't even wait for a response, scuttling out of the door before either of them could talk. She looked at the door for a moment, before Jon walked in front of her, pushing it shut. She turned away from him then, staring once more out of the window. She could sense him behind her, however, him standing fairly close behind her.

"So…" he began, slowly. "We're married."

"Looks like."

"Explains a few things."

She nodded, softly. "Guess it does."

"Alanna." He sighed, "Don't be like this."

"Like what!?" she cried, all her frustration, fear and anger finally pouring out of her. "Like I'm confused? Like I'm worried about what happened to George and my children?" her eyes began to water, and she dropped her head. "Like I'm not sure what in the hell is going on here with you, a-and me and-"

She cut off as Jon put his arms around her, softly shushing her. "It'll be alright, it'll be alright."

"I don't know what's happening, what's happened. And it feels- I just feel so helpless." She whispered after a moment. "I'm scared, Jon." She added, face buried in his shoulder. 

"I know. I am too." He replied with words that seemed _eerily_ familiar. "At least we can be scared together."

She looked up at him, frowning. She'd just remembered where she'd hear those words before- "What?"

"We can get through this." He clarified, stroking her back soothingly, "We just have to stick together. We just have to find out what happened to us, that's all."


	2. First Impressions

A/N – Right then, firstly; Thanks _sooo_ much for all the impossibly awesome reviews! So glad people like this idea, and I'm now extra motivated to continue the story! ^_^

Secondly, I'll just point out that this chapter is s.l.o.w…but things will be picking up in the next one. These chapters are so much easier to write than ones for my other story, too (mainly because they're about 10,000 words less -_^), so hopefully the next chapter will be up soonish. 

Enjoy!

***

Eventually, they made their way out into the hallway. Alanna had taken some of the clothes from the dresser, what she assumed _were_ her clothes, and had begun to feel remarkably at ease. She made a mental note to get some similar silk shirts made when she made her way back to George and the Swoop; he'd like them, she knew that. She did to, if she was being honest with herself – they felt _incredible_. 

"Alanna!" Jon hissed at her, and she realised she'd been trotting down the hallway without paying much attention. She gave him an almost-apologetic look, and focused once more.

"Where are we?" she asked softly; she had been slightly surprised at where they'd emerged – she hadn't recognized it as being a part of the palace.

Jon shrugged. "Probably the western wing. No-one comes up here much. Well, no-one did." He wasn't looking at her, his eyes instead directed at a wall hanging as they walked past it. "Was that-?" he stopped, peering more intently at it.

"What is it?" she asked, frustrated at his actions. They should be working out a way to get back, back from wherever this place was, not looking at hangings! She opened her mouth to give him a piece of her mind when a servant scurried past them both. Somehow he managed to both run and bow at the same time, murmuring 'Your Majesties' as he did so. She frowned; she had realised before that being married to Jon would mean she was the Queen, but it was still a concept which she couldn't get her head around easily. And to think she'd been aggravated by the formality of the Swoop's servants only the day before! They were incredibly relaxed compared to these men and women. The man eventually seemed to fall around a corner and out of sight, still bowing, and she quickly turned to Jon. "Well?"

"Well what?" he responded, still glancing up at the hanging. He obviously wasn't quite as fazed by the man as she was – of course, bar her being his wife instead of Thayet, his life was still the same, it seemed. 

"Why are you looking at that?" she pointed at the hanging, "Shouldn't we be trying to figure out what's happened?"

He finally looked at her then, a small smile creeping over his face. "Look." 

Glaring at him for good measure, she didn't like being ignored; she slinked over to his side. "What is so important about a hanging, anyway?" she mumbled, staring up at the large piece of material. It seemed to be depicting a victorious knight standing over a fallen foe, sword at the fallen enemies throat. "So?"

"Look at the knight, Alanna." Jon sounded as if he was talking to a child. She almost hit him. Still, she studied the hanging more closely. The knight was helmeted, so she couldn't see a face or anything, though the armour was of a style she hadn't seen before. The knight seemed to be somewhat short, though, and that shield looked- 

"Oh no." There was an all-too familiar embossing on the shield. A Lioness. "Why is there a hanging of _me_ in the palace?"

"Well you apparently _are_ the Queen," Jon shrugged again. "Makes sense."

"No it doesn't!" she shot back, before realizing that it probably did. Not that he needed to know that he was _right_, "That's crazy King logic." She mumbled under her breath, and Jon laughed softly. Something in the bottom of the hanging caught her attention, a little white panel which must have been added by the weaver of the hanging. She peered a little closer at it, noticing that it displayed the date on which, she assumed, the hanging was completed. She frowned, the date was a long time ago – in fact, in the real world it would have been almost twelve years ago; only a few months after she had gained her shield. "Look at this, Jon." She pointed it out to him.

"Hmm?" he moved a little closer to her so he could see it. "Oh. Look at that." He then paled, and quickly turned away from her, hiding his face from her sight. She frowned. _What did that mean?_ He suddenly began moving off again, and she almost had to take a sprinting start to catch up to him. 

"What was that for?"   
"Nothing, nothing." He told her, "I just thought it might be best to get some breakfast. I know how cranky you can be if you don't get a good meal in you early on. And I certainly don't want to be stuck with an aggravated-Alanna all day if we're to try and figure out what happened."

"I'm pretty aggravated already." She mumbled, still puzzled over his earlier actions.

"All the more reason for you to eat something."

***

He'd avoided looking at her for too long as they made their way towards the Kitchens. She had thought about arguing with him over his choice of what they should be doing, but a few moments before she had planned to open her mouth her stomach had rumbled loudly. It was a little hard to try and convince Jon that she wasn't hungry when her body betrayed her so exceptionally.

"Here we are," he opened the door in front of them, and a wonderful smell of roasted bread and spiced wine floated through her head. "Let's grab something and find somewhere to eat."

She agreed with that idea, and quickly led the way. The servants were almost in awe of Jon standing in the midst of them – _The King? Coming into the kitchens! – _Until she realised she was probably playing a part in evoking that awe as well. At least she was able to grab some bread off the cooks without them lecturing her on 'the proper way things were done in the kitchens', something she remembered had _always_ happened to her when she had come to the palace in recent years. A benefit of Royalty, perhaps? _Or maybe just less uptight Cooks,_ she rationalized. "Come on, slowpoke." She whispered to Jon as he filled his arms with condiments. "It'll be time for lunch by the time we start eating."

"Not that you'd be annoyed about that." Jon mumbled back, "Never known you to miss a meal."

She affected an outraged look, hands on her hips. "Are you accusing me of being a pig?"

Somehow he managed to raise his arms in surrender, quite a feat considering how loaded down they were. "No, no." he spluttered, before a smile spread across his face. "You're more of a horse, I've always thought. A bad tempered, obstinate one." Some of the servants gasped in shock, one even laughed, but he was hit on the head almost as soon as he had done so. 

A dangerous glint entered her eye, "_What!?_"

"You know," he replied as they moved out of the kitchen, a smile still plastered on his face. "You've got a nasty bite, you like stamping all over people and if anyone tries to use the bit hard you'll throw them off."

She maintained a glare on him for a while, but his grin was infectious. It _was_ funny, most of all because of their situation. "You know me _so_ well." She murmured to him as they made their way into the Dining Hall, plonking themselves down on one of the 'normal' tables. Something which, based on the lack of any response akin to the servants in the Kitchen, must have been a fairly common occurrence. 

"That I do, Lioness." Jon smiled back, grabbing a roll and beginning to butter it. "So," he asked, "What am I then?"

"You mean apart from a slug?" she shot back.

He gave her an exasperated sigh, "But of course."

Shrugging, she gave it a quick thought. "I don't know. Maybe some kind of fish."

Jon choked on the mouthful of bread he'd just scoffed down, "_Fish_?" he looked across at her in disbelief, before sighing dramatically. "What did I ever do to you?"

"What, besides marry me?"

He glared at her. "That wasn't me."

"Oh right, so I'm actually married to Gary, then?"

"You know what I mean, Alanna." He replied, "I don't know what happened any more than you do. I didn't ask for things to be like this, so I don't appreciate you trying to vilify me."

She winced, he was right. "Sorry. It's just-"

"Difficult. I know." He touched her hand, resting on the table as it was, in a show of support, "But we've faced harder things than this. We can get through it together, like we've done before."

"I guess we can." She smiled. "Thanks, oh motivational one."

He smirked. "Want some butter?" She nodded, and offered her roll to him. He sighed dramatically, "You shouldn't burden your husband so."

"But what else are you good for?"

Jon thought for a moment, "Point taken." 

She grinned as he did his job, slathering on the butter into her roll. He handed it across to her after he had finished doing so, and she made a show of inspecting it. "Hmm, sloppy work over here," she told him, pointing out where the butter was oozing out of the side of the bread. "Might have to work on your technique."

"It's just far too hard to please you, isn't it? I don't even know why I try."

She scoffed, "And like you're Mr. Accommodating?"

Jon rolled his eyes. "I'm easier to live with than you." He smirked, "George and me had little chats when you two would come to Corus. He had quite the stories to tell about you."

"Like what?" she asked her friend/husband. What _had_ the two of them talked about, and why did the idea of George and Jon discussing _her_ make her feel incredibly uneasy?

He gave a dangerously wide smile. "Oh, this and that. I believe there might have been reference to a certain incident around, oh, say last midwinter."

Alanna gaped; _George told Jon about that?! Oh he was so going to…!_ Her good spirits of a few moments ago evaporated as she realised she might not be able to do _anything_ to George again, not if they were to be stuck here. Wait- "Jon," she asked, "We should find out about George, too. Where he is, I mean." Almost slapping herself in the face for her idiocy, she added; "And the children, too! Yours and mine both." Something _had_ to have happened to them; if she and Jon were married, then obviously hers' and George's were never even born. The idea was sickening.

Nodding softly, Jon too had lost the sparkle in his eye. Obviously he was somewhat apologetic that he'd brought down the mood by reminding them of their 'real' lives. "Yeah, we'll do that. We've got to be able to find a way back."

He sounded convinced, which was good enough for her to hold onto that truth with all her might. They _had_ to be able to. But for now they would have to begin the search for answers, in both finding a way home and finding out more about this world – after all, they might be here for a while. She suddenly remembered her question about Jon's behaviour earlier. "Jon, can I ask you something?"

"Sure, go ahead."

She swallowed, "Earlier, at that hanging, why did you act the way you did?"

Jon had paled slightly again, thought it was a lot less this time. "Like what?" he asked, dumbly.

"Don't turn me in circles here, Jon." She warned, "Why were you so abrupt in taking us away from it."

He sighed heavily, staring down at the table for a moment. "It just-" he glanced up at her, "It just surprised me, that's all. I hadn't seen it in a while."

"Oh, ok." She answered automatically, "Wait- Hadn't seen it in a while? You mean it exists in…" she fumbled for an accurate term, "our real world?"

Jon nodded sharply. "Yes, it does."

"How?" she didn't understand, "Why?"

"It's in the north tower. Storage room."

"What's it doing there?" She asked.

"Being stored?"

"Jon," she warned, "Don't. Just tell me- why does it exist?"

He shrugged. "I don't know, I can't even remember why I had it commissioned. It was before I went to meet you in the desert, when you were with the Bazhir."

"You commissioned it?" this was…unsettling. Being reminded of their respective feelings all those years ago – in a place where they were supposed to be _married_ troubled her. "Why?"

"Like I said, I don't really remember." He replied, "Though I think it was supposed to be a gift to you – for when we returned as- Well. You know."

"As betrothed." Things slotted together in her head, "So in this world, when we _did_ return as betrothed from the desert-"

"-I must have presented it to you, and had it hung in the western wing near our rooms." He took another bite out of a roll in front of him, "Makes sense."

She nodded, herself eating some more. Silence spread over the table for a while; in fact they could even begin to hear the talk of the group of knights sitting just behind them, not that she was particularly interested. A thought eventually sprung up in her mind, "How did the weaver know what I looked like?"

Jon shrugged. "She didn't. That's why there's a helmet on you. I told her about the height and the hair, I think."

"Oh." She frowned, "Maybe we could have another look at it again later."

He quirked an eyebrow, "Pleased to see yourself hanging on the palace wall then?"

"Not hardly. I just want another look at it." She replied. Why _did_ she want to see it again? It made her uncomfortable, of that she was certain – reminding her of one of the most painful periods of her life. But there was something else there too, she knew. It was also…intriguing, or at least to an extent it was. What else was different about this world? What differences would her choices have made? She didn't have any regrets in her _real_ life – well, that she could think of off the top of her head, but it was still interesting. She knew they'd be able to get back, so there was no real harm in wondering, was there?

Her reverie was interrupted as Gary breathlessly came running towards them. "Jon! Jon!" he panted, "Thank Mithros I've found you. I didn't think you'd be here, to be honest."

"Why not?" Jon replied, voice dripping with regal coolness. 

Gary seemed startled, he'd obviously not been expecting that. "Oh, just-" he glanced around, "It's a bit…exposed, isn't it?"

"Exposed?"

Nodding, Gary smiled. "Oh, never mind though. I'm sure you'd be fine whatever happened. Anyway, we need to be getting organized to meet the Scanran delegation at midday, so if you're done here…?"

Taking the hint, Jon glanced across at her, a questioning look in his eyes. She smiled, "I'll be fine. I have things to look into, anyway." Jon nodded, and stood up beside his Prime Minister. "Have a good time!"

The two men just looked at her, before sharing a look, and walking away. 

***

She was walking back to their rooms for the moment, attempting to learn the route off by heart. It's not as if she was worried that someone might be suspicious that their Queen – and she winced whenever she thought of _that_ title – was, well, not their Queen. They weren't going to be here for too long, so she didn't particularly care. But it would be best to at least know where they were to be sleeping. Sleeping _together_, even. She frowned; perhaps it might be possible to get a second bed put in? No, that would cause _too _much uproar – the King and Queen having marital problems? Too many people asking questions…

Frowning, she stopped in the hallway. Things were a little more complicated than she'd first thought. She didn't _particularly_ care if things in this world were changed by her actions, but she _did_ care if there was such questioning of her actions that they didn't have enough time to find out a way to return to their world as soon as was possible for them. That would require drawing as little attention to herself. Well, as little attention as possible for a Queen, anyway. They'd have to play along, then. Of course, it was a lot easier for Jon – he was King back in the real world anyway. 

What was a Queen supposed to do, anyway? 

***

The wall hanging that she had discussed with Jon earlier hung in front of her. She had stopped to have a better look at it, admiring it's work. It _did_ look good, she could admit that – and at least you couldn't tell that it was her. Apart from the emblem on the shield, anyway.

Of course, what it _represented_ was something altogether different. Jon and her had been through a lot, that was for certain, something which this hanging represented more than anything. There had been a time when all she could see of the future was Jon. Well, that wasn't entirely true – the dream of her shield was always present, but Jon had run a close second through a good portion of her life. She knew she made the right decision in rejecting his offer of marriage, however. She would have been awful as the Queen, something which she supposed would be reflected here in this world. It'd be vindicating to see just how much better off Thayet did with Jon than she would have done. 

Biting her lip, she thought over that. She _had_ loved him at the time, of course. It was a hard choice, but she was one for hard choices. Of course, the rational part of her mind put in, this Corus didn't seem particularly destitute…

She pushed the thought to the back of her mind; she had other things to think about now. Like working out how and why they had been shoved into this world. They'd probably have to start in the royal library, looking up spells and other such bizarre phenomena. Where would they start, though? She had no idea – she couldn't even remember if she'd done anything in particular that night. 

Though something was still tickling at the front of her awareness. It was as if she'd forgotten to extinguish a torch in her chambers before she went to sleep – she was missing something. But what? She tried to concentrate, to bring it forward through the sheer force of her will – but nothing came. 

With a sigh, she finally made her way away from the hanging. 

***

She'd gone to their rooms, first. Just had a little poke around in there – it was weird, seeing clothes in fashions she liked (though with far better cuts and materials; must go with the whole Royalty angle) and had back at the Swoop stocking a room she shared with Jon. It conjured up memories of her time as a Squire, when they were _almost_ sharing each other's rooms. Actually, she thought with a blush, one could probably say they were sharing each other's rooms – beds, at least, were shared on a regular basis. 

Still, nothing had leapt out to her as being of particular note, and she'd left fairly quickly. She had no idea of what kind of duties a Queen was required to perform, or whether she was required to do _anything_. She knew what Thayet often did; training and socializing with the Queen's Riders, but she didn't suppose such a body existed here. She'd just decided to do a little training; after all – traveling to a different world was no excuse to get out of shape. Though sometimes she wished at least _something_ would excuse her from doing it. 

So she'd made her way down to the training courts – thankful that they were in the same location as those in the real world. Moreover, it appeared that she did this a lot in this world too, as not one of the knights, squires or servants she passed gave her a confused glance. They smiled at her, some even murmured 'Your Majesty' as she wandered past (And she felt certain they would be able to hear her grinding her teeth in frustration), but they didn't question her presence. Which was a bonus, as far as she was concerned. She picked up a wooden practice sword, glad to note that it was cored with lead, and began her routine; mind focused absolutely on what she was doing.

When she became receptive to the outside world again, winding down from her last exercise, she noted that a few men had gathered to watch her. It seemed, judged on their expressions, that there was still as much…conflict…on her 'position' as there was in the real world. One looked in awe of her, another somewhat aggravated, while a third looked…appreciative? Oh yes, that was certainly a leer. She glared at him in return, though he just smirked at her. She was of half a mind to go over and hit him on the head with her heavy sword, but – unfortunately! – She didn't get the chance. 

It was at just that moment that Jon came into the room, quietly making his way over to her. As he did so, his eyes spotted the man leering at her, and he stopped suddenly; jaw clenching. "And what are you looking at?" he asked, coolly. The man turned on his heel, eyes widening suddenly in _sheer_ _panic_ at the presence of the King. He spluttered for an answer, though nothing particularly coherent emerged. Jon narrowed his eyes, "Don't even think of doing that again. Now go." 

After the man had scampered off, she turned her own glare onto Jon. "What did you do that for?" she whispered, harshly. "I could have dealt with that myself!"

Jon gave a start, before looking around sharply, noticing that two of the men were still within hearing distance. He placed a hand on the small of her back and guided her over to the corner, shaking his head in disbelief. "I thought I was doing you a favour," he whispered as they moved. "But obviously you're too prickly to appreciate that."

"_Prickly?_" she fumed, twisting so he didn't have his hand on her anymore. It was strange, but she didn't particularly want him touching her right at the moment – it felt very uncomfortable, for some reason. "I'm not prickly!"

Jon just gave her a long, skeptical look.

"Alright, maybe I am. But that doesn't mean you can come gallivanting in here with some misguided attempt to…" she fumbled for a term, "To 'save' me from something!"

He just shook his head. "I thought I was doing you a favour," he repeated. "Obviously I'll refrain from doing so in the future."

Sighing, she winced. She _had_ blown up at him for no real reason, "Sorry, I don't know why I went off like that."

"It's alright, it's just the frustration boiling over."

She frowned. "I guess so. How did you know?"

"Because mine boiled over earlier when I was talking to the Scanran's. I think Gary's going to have a tough time talking them around now, and it's all my fault. I shouldn't have gone off- Well, I shouldn't have done what I did, anyway."

"What did you do?" she asked. 

He waved the question away. "That's not important. But I was still really angry when I walked in, and then when I saw the way that man was looking at you it-"

"You shouldn't worry about those things," she chided. "I can handle myself with creeps like that."

"Maybe-"

"No. Not maybe. I _can._" She punctuated the last word by stabbing him in the chest with her finger.

Shrugging, he grinned at her. "I guess so. You're certainly scaring me now." His grin became a warm smile as he added, "Still, that doesn't mean I don't want to help you. In this and other things. You're one of my best friends, Alanna. I _want_ to help you."

She blushed slightly, "Oh. Ok then, thanks. But don't do the whole 'jealous husband' trick again."

"But it worked so well!" he joked.

Slipping into the incredibly familiar glare, she shook her head at him. "You're intolerable, you know that, don't you?"

"Ah," he replied dramatically. "So I guess that makes us a perfect match, then?" Laughing as she slapped him lightly on the shoulder, he put an arm around her shoulders. Again she felt somewhat uncomfortable, but she tried to bury that feeling. "Come on," he continued. "Let's get started on trying to find a way back to the real world."

She couldn't argue with _that_, anyway.


	3. Pulling back the Veil

A/N – Okay, so I said this one would be more 'action-y'. I lied, sue me (please don't) -_^

I've finally worked out the entire plot proper now, so there'll be less of the pointless meandering along of the second chapter, at least. And a cracker of a plot it is, if I don't say so myself (which I am). Anyway – as always, **enjoy!**

…and review…

***

"Books are dull." Alanna stated with a sigh, slamming one of the aforementioned items onto the dusty table. They were in the Royal Library at the moment; pouring over volumes Jon had retrieved dealing with, as he said, 'Dimensional and Temporal distortions'. She just called it boring. "Why would anyone want to write such a thing as-" she glanced at the book she had just been reading, "-'A Treatise on Magical Transportation and…'" she squinted at the cover, frowning. "Well, I don't know what the hell that word is."  

"Dissociation." Jon didn't bother to look up at her as he replied, engrossed in his own leather-bound volume as he was, "And people get paid good coin for writing these things, Alanna. Plus they're necessary for other sorcerer's, to learn the theory behind spells." He looked up at her as she snorted at him, "Alanna, I'll be the first to admit that reading these books is not the most interesting way we could be spending our time. But a sword isn't going to help us get back to our world. A book on sorcery, however, may well do so."

She pouted. "That's stupid." 

"Thank you for that insightful comment." Jon replied, exasperated, "Should I perhaps ask whoever or whatever did this to us, if it even _was_ someone in particular, to perhaps challenge you to a duel instead? Maybe you can send us back just by stabbing him in the gut."

"No need for sarcasm," she was a bit put out by his response. She knew they'd both been under a fair bit of pressure recently, and so a little leeway was necessary, but he didn't have to be so scathing about it. "I just wish there was something immediate I could do. I'm not good at this researching thing – my head hurts, having to read all these."

Jon sighed, "You're right. I'm sorry; I'm just annoyed that not _one_ of these books talks about what happened to us."

"What _did_ happen to us?" she asked, "I mean, what do you think happened to us?"

Shrugging, he replied. "I'm not sure, really. At first I remember a spell that allows a sorcerer to…push…someone back into the past, to that person's own memory of the past, but it's nothing like this. I think we're looking at other worlds, or something, here – which is why I've got you reading some of Devrolet's works."

"Lucky me."

"He was a master at such transportation rituals," Jon continued, ignoring her dry comment, "Just look for any reference to other realms, or something. Anything that looks like what happened last night."

She frowned, "What do you mean?"

He looked up from the book, a puzzled look on his face. "I-I don't know. It just slipped out." He mumbled, after a long while. "I just…"

"What?"

"I have this feeling that there's something about the night that I should be remembering, but-"

"But every time you try and think on it, the thought slips away?" she proffered. It sounded just like what had happened to her earlier; a memory of a memory of something important happening.

Jon nodded, "Yeah. You too?" 

"Pretty much. I thought I remembered something of note when I was looking at that Wall Hanging earlier, but when I tried to focus on it, it just vanished."

"When, before breakfast?" he queried, "Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

"No, after breakfast."

"Oh." He added, softly. "You had another look at the Hanging?" She nodded, "Why?"

"I don't know; I wanted another look at it, I suppose." She shrugged, "Good times, y'know?" Well, they _were_ good times. She had enjoyed her time amongst the Bazhir, and most of what occurred during that time. The fight with Jon had been a notable exception…though she had been very happy with their situation _before _that fight. 

Jon smiled at her, "I guess so." His smile widened into a wicked grin; "Deserts always do seem to be interesting with us."

"That they do," she smiled back at him. They held a gaze for a long moment; he looked very handsome in this low, flickering torchlight, she thought warmly. Suddenly realizing just _what_ direction her thoughts were taking, she tore her eyes away from Jon's, violently picking up the book in front of her and burying in her nose in it. She heard Jon coughing softly, before he too busied himself elsewhere in the stack of books. 

They stayed like that for a while, though Alanna was not able to understand what the book was talking about any better than she had before, until Jon eventually broke the silence. "Oh, that's right." Her eyes flew up at his voice, startled by the sudden noise, "Uhh, you said that you had one of these strange memory…" he searched for a word, "lapses, right? Similar to what I experienced, I assume." She nodded, "Well, I was thinking it might be useful to think about doing a memory spell – to try and find out what we can't remember. It might give us a vital clue as to our current situation, and how to get back."

Alanna thought on it; it was a very good idea, truth be told. "It's a good idea, definitely. Can you work such a spell?" 

"Well, I'm not sure. I'll have to look out for a specific spell, and think things over a little more from there."

She frowned as he just sat there, "Alright." She drawled, "Why don't you get on that then." 

Jon coloured slightly, "Right. Good point." He pushed himself off the chair slowly, making his way into the stacks. She rolled her eyes at his back; honestly, if she weren't around to prod him, sometimes he'd never get anything done. _Not that it's any different with you,_ a rebellious voice whined from the back of her head. True, but that's something she liked to gloss over. Grinning to herself, she put the heavy and boring book back onto the table, putting her hands behind her head as she rocked back in the chair. Her eyelids were heavy; it had been a most tiring day – and it was only just gone midday! She had hoped to explore a little of the city this afternoon; to find George, mainly. But with this research perhaps leading to a possible solution, she'd probably have to stay indoors for the rest of the day, perhaps even in the _library_ all day! She grimaced, that was a most unsettling thought. Sitting down for hours upon end was not the way she liked to live her life. 

As if to emphasise this point, a few minutes later her left leg fell asleep. Cursing as she did so, she stood and walked around for a few moments to get the blood flowing again. As she walked, she noticed that Jon was standing in the stacks not all that far from her, a dark look upon his face as he read from a book. She waddled over to him, wincing at the pain. _You'd think that a fully trained Knight could work through this pain,_ she snidely thought to herself, _but no! We get taught all about swordcraft and battle wounds. Why can't they teach us how to stop our limbs falling asleep and an effective cure for hiccups?_

"Are you alright?" She asked Jon as she neared him, banishing her silly thoughts to the back of her mind.

"What?" he replied, startled by her presence. "Oh, yes. Yes. I'm fine." 

She frowned, he certainly didn't _sound_ fine. She gestured at the book he was reading, "What's that?"

Flicking the spine of the book towards her, he softly read it for her. "A study of the Tortallan Civil War.'"

"I don't remember being taught about any Civil War Tortall's ever had." She wondered.

Jon nodded, "That's because there never had been one." He added, softly. "Except that this one, so I've discovered, happened all of seven years ago."

"What?"

He opened the book again, flicking through the pages until he found something, before reading aloud. "'The War, if it can be defined as such, was a series of battles between the forces of the Rightful King,' though-" he added to Alanna, "-that's not necessarily saying much, since I apparently won, 'and some breakaway fiefs and provinces in the years 447 through to 449 H.E. The rebellious nobles, demanding what they claimed was 'their due' of Royal taxes, fought in a strangely cohesive manner for such a fractitious group, managing to best the small amount of Royal Forces sent against them. In the winter of the year 448, they lay siege to the Capital, eventually falling after two months of their cowardly besiegement.'" He stopped, closing the book suddenly. "There's more, of course. That's just a short summary of what happened."

"Is it-?"

"True? I don't know. Probably – I know the author of this. His definition of imaginative is using spoons instead of forks at the dinner table. This-" he waved the book, "-is well beyond anything he'd write if it was fictional."

Alanna chewed on her lip for a moment; this was…bizarre. How could things be so different here? She really didn't have the slightest idea on that front, though maybe Jon might have some theories. "Do you have any idea how things could be so different?"

He shrugged. "Not really. I find it strange that these 'rebel' fiefs were able to lay siege to Corus for as long as they did, though."

"Why?" a thought struck her; "Oh, because of the Dominion Jewel?"

"Yes. I know it's a risk to use it, to use it when there's no real need to do so, but according to this we were besieged for _two months!_ I surely would have used it before then, regardless of the consequences!"

The picture was forming in Alanna's mind, "Hang on. We married after you visited me while I was with the Bazhir, right?"

"I guess so. At least, what I gathered from Gary, not to mention the whole thing about the Hanging near our room."

"Right. So I would have returned from the desert long before Halef Seif asked me to find that friend of his-"

"Which means you never would have gotten that map." Jon added, catching onto her train of thought.

"Which means I would never have gone to Sarain, never met up with Thayet and Liam, and-" she trailed off, waiting for him to finish the thought.

Jon paled, "And never gotten the Dominion Jewel." He sighed, "What else is different, then? I mean, if our marriage could have such an affect _there_, what else might have been affected?"

Now it was her turn to pale; "What of Roger?" Her eyes widened – she couldn't _believe_ she hadn't thought of this before hand – "What of _Thom_?"

Jon looked at her, solemnly. "I think it might be best to find out."

"When?" She asked. Her mind was muddled now – she had just assumed her brother was dead; but with the revelation that things _could_ have changed to the extent that she had never gone to Chitral Pass, might it be that her beloved brother was _alive_?

He took her by the hand, "I'm thinking now."

***

They raced along the halls of the Palace, making for the east tower. Jon had asked a servant soon after they left the library where 'Master Thom's' residence was located, and they had been directed here. If she wasn't so astounded by the fact that Thom was seemingly alive, then she might have been concerned with the look of amazement the servant had directed at them – she supposed it _was _very odd. The King _and_ Queen seemingly not knowing where a member of their (extended) family was housed, but she honestly didn't care at this point.

Thom's Alive! 

After what seemed an eternity of climbing and walking _very_ swiftly along stairs and passages, Jon stopped outside a doorway. She had no idea where the room was that the servant had pointed them towards, but she was fine with Jon leading her. "Is this it?" she asked, catching her breath.

Jon nodded softly. "Uh-huh. This is it."

She didn't need any more. Raising her hand, she knocked repeatedly on the door. "Thom?" 

After a few moments, a small voice floated out to them. "Go away!"

"Thom, it's us. Open the door." Jon called out.

"Oh, in that case," Thom's voice was a little closer now. "Go away!"

Alanna let a wild grin spread across her face, before raising her voice. "If you don't open that door this instant, Thom, I'm going to have to come in there and-!" She cut off as the door in front of them violently opened of it's own accord.  

"Alright, alright. Come in." Thom's voice told them. Alanna raced into the room, noting it's _incredibly_ spacious and lavish interior, before noting a man sitting at a desk in the corner. His back to them, she couldn't see his face – but his copper hair and black robe distinguished him as her brother. Her brother, here – alive and seemingly well. She rushed over to him, tapping him on the shoulder. He turned in his chair, "What is it? And what are you so happy ab- Hrmph!"

Crushing him in her arms, Alanna mumbled the same words over and over again – "You're alive! You're alive!" Thom fumbled around in her grasp, attempting to get free – unfortunately, all he accomplished was him loosing his balance and falling off the chair, Alanna tumbling with him. She didn't release him, however, hugging him tighter.

"Uh, Alanna?" she heard Jon's voice from above her, "Do you think he might be wanting a breath of air anytime soon?"

Her eyes widened, and she released Thom suddenly. "Oh! Sorry! I wasn't thinking." She added, meekly.

Thom was gulping as he sat up, eyes bulging. "Not that that's a new thing for you," he joked. "Honestly, Alanna. What's gotten into you?"

She waited until he looked like he had gotten his breath back, before she engulfed him in another hug. _He was alive!_

"Jon?" Thom croaked out from under her grip, "What is the matter with her?"

The King smiled, "Nothing."

"You're alive!" she whispered again, tears slipping from her eyes now.

"Of course I am!" he replied, finally pushing away from her grasp. "Why wouldn't I be? Are you _sure_ she's ok?" he asked Jon again.

"She's fine. Well, sort of. Mostly, I guess."

Thom raised his eyebrows, "And that answers' filling no-one with confidence. Please, Jon – is she alright? And I'm looking for a yes or no response here."

:"Yes. She's fine."

Alanna's brother nodded, before frowning. "So why's she acting so weird?"

"Long story." Jon replied, before he grasped Alanna's shoulder. "Come on, Lioness. Don't want to make your brother uncomfortable, do you?"

"What?" She was off in a world of her own. Seeing Thom again was just…_fantastic_. No matter what else was 'wrong' with this place, she'd _always_ be thankful for this moment. She had purposefully ignored the issue of her and Jon having to leave again; she didn't want to think of that. Not now, at any rate. "Oh, ok." She took Jon's hand, and was subsequently pulled to her feet; before smiling at Jon in thanks.

Thom mouthed the words _thank you_ to Jon, before he patted down his robe. "Long story, you say?" He began, "But those are the best kind!"

Shaking his head, Jon disagreed. "No, never mind, Thom. She's fine, she's just a little…excited."

"_She_ is standing right here," she cut in – finally coming back to her sense. _Goddess Bless! Thom's standing right here! _She turned to Jon, realizing for the first time just how close they were standing. It was nice…in that – by now – familiar uncomfortable way. She quickly took a step backwards, a small step, anyway. "Jon, maybe he can help us! You said yourself that we'll need a powerful sorcerer just for the memory spell – and maybe he knows about the _other_ thing as well."

"Okay, now you're _really_ making me nervous." Thom interjected, "What under Mithros' Light _are_ you talking about, sister?"

She looked up at Jon, imploring him to agree with her. He shrugged his shoulders. "It makes sense." 

"_What_ makes sense?" her brother was almost whining by now, "By the Gods! What is wrong with you two?"

Alanna turned back to her brother. "This might be a little hard to believe, Thom – but please, just hear me out." She waited until her brother nodded, and motioned for him to sit. "Jon did say that it was a long story, after all. And he's right…well, sort of. I mean, 'We're not the Alanna and Jon you know' pretty much sums it up, but there's more to it than-"

"_What?_" Thom interrupted, "You're not Alanna and Jon?"

"No!" She quickly backtracked, "No, we are! Just…not the one's you know."

"That makes no sense."

Sighing, Jon cut in on the explanations. "It does, but we understand that it's…odd. Look, I'm not going to try and dumb it down for you, since I don't think you'd really respect me doing that." Thom gave a small nod in reply, "But basically? We're from another world. We're who we are- Uh, by that meaning that we're Alanna of Trebond and Jonathan of Conte, but we're not the same Alanna and Jon that exist in _this_ world."

"So," Thom murmured, "You're saying that you're from a parallel Universe."

Jon blinked. "Well, yeah. I guess." He looked over at Alanna. "Are we saying that?" She just shrugged – damned if she knew.

"Why didn't you just say so?" Thom threw up his hands, "Anyway; this is _very_ interesting. Makes me want to lock the two of you up and perform experiments on you both!"

Alanna looked at Jon, a startled expression on her face. More than anything else, she was amazed by how easily Thom had accepted their story. "Please don't." she told her brother. "But we do need your help."

"Well, I'm very busy, but I'll see what I can do. Tell me what you want me to do, first of all."

She motioned for Jon to take up the explaining. He knew more about this sorcerous stuff than she did, after all. "Well, we will eventually need to find a spell or something to get us back to our world," Thom nodded sagely, "but first there's something else. It seems that when we try to remember what happened to us on that night, we get…" he searched for the right word, "it's like we _know_ that there's a memory of great importance that we have, but whenever we try and focus on it – it slips away." 

Thom frowned, before muttering "How odd." He looked very confused, now. Why was that?

"So we were thinking of perhaps doing a spell to retrieve our memories of that night; it's a way to get that one memory back that just…_feels_ like it's incredibly important. Which is a better place to start than us just searching through every book on sorcery in the library."

"That- That's a good idea." Thom murmured. He still looked a little distracted, standing up and pacing around for a few moments; "Are you sure that there is…this memory…that you're telling me about?"

"Quite sure," Jon replied. "Why is that difficult to believe?"

"Oh, no real reason." Her brother waved his hand, "But- Look. There's a spell I know which has a similar effect to what happened to you – it…pushes someone through a, well – I guess you could call it a gateway, but there's nothing about memory loss or anything." 

"You mean Devrolet's Dimensional Doorway?" Alanna cut in, remembering something she'd read from the books she had read earlier. Jon and Thom stared at her in utter shock – how could _she_ know something like _that_? She glared at them both; "What? Just because I complain and moan about reading those boring books doesn't mean that I didn't do it."

Jon suddenly shook his head and laughed, "You're something, all right. Maybe we'll make a sorcerer out of you yet." He gave her a warm grin, one that set butterflies roaring in her stomach. _Stop that!_ _You're a happily married woman! _She bit her lip; _Still, it's alright just to look, isn't it?_ She decided that it was, but she still shot a withering glare back at him. _Teach him to underestimate me._

"Yes, well," her brother interjected, "If we're finished with this lovely little lovers repartee; Yes. That's the spell I meant." He turned, heading back to his desk, not noticing both Alanna and Jon blushing slightly, turning away from each other and busying their attention elsewhere. "Well, a memory spell then. To retrieve lost fragments, possibly those of an ensorcelled nature…"

"What?" she didn't know what that meant, and she certainly knew that her memories were not…insorselled…?

"He means that they might be magicked." Jon whispered to her, "That whatever brought us here also put a spell on us so we couldn't remember."

"Oh. Right." She replied, "Thanks. Of course, he could have just _said_ that."

"He's a sorcerer, Alanna. They always talk like that."

"Aha!" Thom's voice carried from his desk. He was clutching a small satchel; a plain leather thing. Very much unlike the rest of his belongings – she realised. All his furniture was heavy wood, gilded edged and dark. His clothes were the finest material money could buy – what was he doing with this plain leather satchel? One that didn't even look like there was anything _in_ it at all! Thom stuck his hand into it – to be precise, he stuck his whole _arm_ in there - and Alanna gaped; how was that possible!? "I know what I'm looking for now, yes. Portnill's study on the human mind and how magic can affect it. I know it's in here somewhere…" he rummaged around a little more, before obviously finding what he was looking for, pulling out a large tome from the tiny satchel. "Here we go."

"How…?" she began, confused.

"What?" Thom replied, already starting to flick through the pages of the book. She gestured to the satchel he held in his hands, "Oh, this. Well, it's magic, of course. Helps me store all my books in one place. Also allows me to carry them around, because it never weighs more than the satchel itself, regardless of how much I put in it. Took me months to create, too. Worth it, though."

"Amazing." Jon murmured. She found herself nodding – it truly _was._ Think of the uses it could have in warfare – one archer could hold _thousands_ of arrows! Knights could carry entire suits of armour with them, different suits for different conditions. 

"Have you ever made any others?" She asked, "I mean, did…we…ever ask for some?"

"Uhm, I think so. Maybe, it would have been a long time ago." Thom shrugged, "But they're incredibly difficult to make – I can't make them easily. I don't think I had the materials at the time, either."

"Oh." She replied, somewhat curious. She wouldn't have given up trying to get her brother to make one of these. "What am I like in this world?" She tentatively asked.

Thom frowned. "I don't know if I can explain it to you, really. I mean, I don't think you'd be too different."

"Things are plenty different." Jon put in. "For one thing, Alanna and I aren't together."

"Really?" Thom replied, genuinely shocked. "But the way yo-"

Jon cut him off – "Not together."

"Oh. Well then, maybe things really are different." Thom was still gaping slightly, "Uh, Alanna. You're…as fiery as you ever were, though being Queen tempered that somewhat." He grimaced, "Not to get too personal or anything, but since neither of you know the past – well, you've not been too happy since the end of the Civil War."

"What do you mean?" Jon asked, "Unhappy?"

"It feels very odd to be discussing this," Thom murmured. "Truth be told I find it difficult to talk about. But basically the two of you haven't been the same since the Civil War. I don't really want to go into more detail than that, sorry."

"Alright." She sighed, "I understand."

Thom gave her a look of thanks, "Sorry. It's just a very uncomfortable situation. But obviously it's different in your world?"

"Yes, very." Alanna replied, "For starters, we're not together." She motioned to Jon, "And then there's things different about the past, and such."

Thom looked surprised. "Huh, odd. Maybe we'll have to talk about this some time." She smiled in agreement, "What am I like in your world? Still dashingly handsome, I hope."

Her smile slipped, and she glanced at Jon. He shot her a sympathetic glance – now she understood how uncomfortable Thom must have felt talking about 'his' Alanna and Jon. Did she want to tell the truth, or perhaps…"Well…sort of. You're still a master, and powerful, and such." She knew that wasn't convincing in the slightest, and so asked a question that had been dogging her for a while instead. "But what of Roger?"

"Roger?" Thom asked, "Roger of Conte?" She nodded to affirm his guess, "Still dead since you killed him, sister."

"Which time?"

"Which time you killed him?" Thom laughed, "I'm fairly certain I meant the _only_ time you killed him. After your Knighting." He put a finger to his lips, thinking something over. "If I remember correctly some trull tried to make me bring him back from the dead, or something like that. Not that I would have ever done so – I know that I have the power to do it, but you saw that she was kicked out of the Palace once you heard her trying to rile me up."

Alanna let out a sigh of relief, "Good, good. That's good."

"I take it Roger didn't stay dead in your world?" Thom proffered. 

Jon shook his head, "No. He comes back and almost kills us both again. But Alanna stops him, again. Killing him, again."

Smiling, Thom looked over to his sister. "There's our Lioness, eh?" He turned back to Jon, "Ours indeed." Before burying his nose back into the book that was still open in his hands. Flicking through the pages as he did so, he still stifled a laugh as Jon turned red. Eventually he found what he was looking for, "Aha! Here we go, this should work."

Alanna peered over her brother's shoulder, "Looks complicated."

"Oh, not really. A bit of chanting, a bit of incense; nothing that's particularly…" He trailed off suddenly, frowning at the page.

"What?" She asked, wondering what the matter was.

Thom grimaced, "Well, I may have spoken too soon. You see this?" He pointed to something on the page, Alanna didn't know what it indicated, but she nodded anyway. "This is a vital component of the spell. A block of crystallised amber, which will act as a temporal housing for the memories until we can filter them back in to the mind-"

"Sounds like a whole lot of fun." Alanna murmured. The memories were actually going to be _removed_?

"It's just temporary," Thom clarified. "Just take them _all _out for a moment, and then remove all enchantments from the amber, and then put the memories back in. Sounds complex, but it's actually fairly simple."

"Why can't you just remove enchantments from our heads?" she queried, "Why the Amber?"

Thom sighed, "The mind is an amazingly complex thing, Alanna. Spells directly affecting the mind have a tendency to turn the person affected into a sniveling imbecile. This spell works by…taking away the possibility of the spell touching other parts of the brain." She nodded, at least understanding a part of it now. "But the stock of high quality Amber has been long exhausted from the castle, and from most of Corus. It'll take a while before I can find some more."

Jon spoke up from the other side of the room, "How long?"

"A week or so. Maybe longer."

Alanna thought quickly, "A week. That's alright, we can handle life here for a week." She smiled softly, "I want to see George, too."

"George?" Thom spoke up, "You want to see him?"

"Yes." She asked, confused by her brother's reaction. "Why, is something wrong with him here?" her eyes widened as a horrible thought struck her, "He's not…"

"No! No…George is alive. Oh yes, very much so." Alanna let a breath of relief escape her, _thank Mithros!_ "But…"

"But what?" Jon jumped in.

Thom winced. "I'm not sure if he'll want to see _you._" Seeing their confused faces, he continued. "Just that when the two of you returned from the desert all those years ago, things were never really the same between the three of you. Especially between Jon and George; at the start anyway – jealousy got the best of them, I think. Then a few years ago now, four or so I guess, George and Alanna had a bad falling out. I don't know why, she never talked about it – but she hasn't gone down into the city to see him for almost three years now."

"Well, I want to try, at least. Maybe do some good while I'm here." She replied, determined to see George. 

Jon spoke softly, a strangled note to his voice. "Yes, something to do, at any rate – seeing George." He shook his head, "We've got time to burn, anyway."

"Uhh, there's one more problem," Thom interjected. "You see, it's the seven-year anniversary of the Breaking of the Siege, and we generally celebrate the week each year. But someone's been threatening the King and Queen lately; saying that they'll 'not see the end of the Week of Remembrance'. I mean, you two are usually fairly active on this front, going out and risking your life so that the people can't say you're hiding away, but these threats…whoever sent them means business. They've already killed scores of Guards over the past few months, a 'lead up to the main event', or so the notices we've been receiving from the assassin are saying."

"So we're not allowed out of the castle?" Alanna stated, appalled. "Is that what you're saying?"

"Officially?" Thom replied, "No, you're not. Of course, you're not going to be told to stay in, but Gary has ordered that a group of Guardsmen follow you whenever you leave Palace grounds. A _large_ group of Guardsmen."

"Which means we're not really able to do anything surreptitiously." Jon mused. 

Thom grinned, "Of course. That hasn't really stopped either of you. Sneaking out of the palace has become something of a game to Alanna, I think."

"Do you know how to get out of here without being seen?" She asked Thom.

He merely laughed, "Sister, you're talking to the most powerful sorcerer in the realm. If I had need to, I could just _teleport_ you outside."

"Can you?"

Shaking his head, Thom replied in a more serious fashion, "No. Not today, I've got some other experiments going on which can't be disturbed by such a powerful force without ruining them. However," he held up a finger, and dug into his satchel, eventually pulling out a few roots. "I can alter your appearance slightly."

She nodded, "Good, good. Thanks a lot, Thom." She smiled widely, giving into the desire to hug him again. He rolled his eyes, but reciprocated. After she let go of him, she turned to Jon. "I'll go tonight, I think. If there's any other thing you want me to do in the city, just ask."

Jon thought for a moment, "Nothing off the top of my head. But just remember to be careful, and be back before it gets too late; I don't want to have to send out a search party for someone who looks nothing like the Queen."

She gave him a lopsided smile, before turning back to Thom. "Thanks for all your help, Brother." She told him, "It's amazing, to have you here again. I haven't seen you in a long while."

"Well, you'll have a week at least to see me now, sister dear." Thom replied, smiling at her. "But now we should get ready for the spell. I need to do some planning and measurements…" he trailed off as he scuttled back into an adjoining study, muttering under his breath. She and Jon stood in a comfortable silence for a while, shooting glances at each other. This afternoon had been a most…_involving_…one for the both of them.

"Are you sure you'll be alright with this?" Jon asked, after what seemed long minutes. "I don't want anything to happen to you out there. All this talk of assassins and Civil Wars has me rather anxious to be gone."

She waved his fears away, "Don't worry, I'll just go straight to the Dove, see George, and return. And besides, I _am_ a Knight of Tortall, and one who can best you, as far as I can recall."

"Alas! If only your ego could have changed when we came here." Jon joked.

"_My_ ego?!" she all but shrieked, "Look who's talking here, mister!"

He laughed, and grasped her by the shoulder. "Alright, I'm a hypocrite." His eyes suddenly felt as if they were boring into her, the warm blue eyes imploring her to take heed of his next words. "But I'm also just worried for you; don't do anything stupid out there tonight, Lioness."

"I won't." she told him seriously, somewhat affected by his stare. A warm feeling had spread over her, something she hadn't felt in a while - lust. His hand on her shoulder didn't really help, either. "Don't worry about me, worry about what _you're_ going to be doing tonight." He really needed a shave, she decided to herself. His jaw was getting stubble all over it – she never liked him with facial hair. She frowned slightly, what was she thinking? Lusty wrong thoughts, that's what.

"What do you mean?" he asked, confused. 

She shook his hand off her shoulder, thankful that their contact was broken. "Just that I overheard some of the cooks earlier talking about a night of 'entertainment' for the Scanran Ambassador. I'd assume you'd have to be there."

"If me, then why not you?" He asked her, "You _are_ the Queen."

"Because she never goes to these things," Thom cut in from across the room. He'd emerged from his little room, piles of rags and measuring tapes in his hand. He looked like a tailor, not a sorcerer. "She always leaves the little things to you alone, going off to do her own thing. She goes to the Banquets and balls, of course, but small dignitaries are too much for her, or something. No-one really knows why. I just think she goes off to train, or something."

Alanna smirked at Jon, raising an eyebrow at him. "There you go."

He rolled his eyes at her, "Lovely. Leave me to do all the boring things while you go off and have adventures."

"Ah," she snickered, "But would you have it any other way?"


	4. Disclosure

A/N – Short Authors note this time, just thanking everyone for the kind reviews and wishing everyone a Merry Christmas and a very happy New Year!

Bit of a weird chapter, if I don't say so myself, but reviews are more than welcome! In fact I'm pleading for them…! ^_^

***

It was an arduous trek from the Palace to the Dove, a lot longer than what she had remembered, actually. As much as she loathed admitting it – she wasn't in the shape she had been at seventeen.

Neither, she thought as she passed a large windowed house, pausing to stare at her reflection, did she _look_ like she had at seventeen. Not currently, anyway. Thom had done an amazing job; her previously shoulder-blade length copper hair had been lengthened and darkened, her skin had become olive brown, her eyes black. She now looked more like a native of Carthak than of Tortall – a fact which had enabled her to sneak past the guards without question, posing (as she was) as a maid running an errand. Thom had told her that he'd modeled it on a specific palace maid, but…she wasn't sure if she wanted to ask how he knew the maids measurements to the inch. He'd also told her that he'd…'tied' the disguise to her own Gift, and told her that she could remove it and bring it back up fairly easily – showing her the spells and ingredients she would need to do so. That part of the afternoon had been _less_ than fun; Thom was about as strict a teacher as she had ever had. 

Still, her time with Thom so far had been mostly enjoyable. Just seeing him was enjoyable – stirring emotions in her which she'd not felt in almost twenty years. It would be hard to leave him, she knew. She also knew that she would have to; however much she might love having her brother back, and she truly did, this was not her world. Her children, for one, did not exist here. That was sufficient motivation right there for her to return to her world, let alone the number of small differences she had so far noticed here. 

And then there was Jon, of course. Her _husband_ here; it had been somewhat interesting to see how her life (and oddly enough the lives of most residents of Tortall!) would have been different had she married Jon. She wasn't altogether sure if what she had seen so far was 'worse' or 'better', but neither was she altogether sure that such comparisons were the right thing to do in the first place. After all, she'd never _lived_ in this world. Still, from what she'd experienced so far, it was…different, that was for certain.

She could almost feel it in the air, this difference. More accurately, she could feel it in the air whenever she and Jon were in the room together – which was occurring quite often, here. She had no idea why such she felt and thought such things; though of course she hadn't been _blind_ in the real world either. She'd recognized that Jon was still one of the most handsome men she'd ever met, but it had never (well, not since she was a young girl) affected her in the fashion that it had been since they'd been here. Not turned back the clock, so to speak, and made her feel like a teenager again. But was that something to pay closer attention to? They would only be here for a week, two at the maximum. 

She nodded to herself, no – best to just ignore it. Besides, as she had told herself earlier, there was nothing wrong with looking, was there? Still, it was slightly irritating – was it just the situation they found themselves in that brought these feelings on, or was it something else? 

No, it had to be the situation. She didn't have any feelings for Jon, not in the real world, anyway. She was happily married to George, simple as that. 

_But_, a part of her mind that she-wished-would-shut-up piped up, _that doesn't necessarily mean that you didn't have feelings for Jon._

True; but what of it? So she was attracted to him, still. That didn't mean anything. So there seemed to be moments recently where the two of them seemed to spark while together, again – that didn't mean anything.

And maybe if you keep telling yourself that… 

No! No, ignoring it is the solution. She could control herself until they returned to their own world, she was _sure_ of it. _Of_ _course_, that same rebellious part of her mind continued to taunt her; _isn't that a lot like hiding from the problem and hoping it goes away?_ Well, it was, sort of – she couldn't deny that. But, she told herself, one had to pick her battles; she knew nothing could be decided or thought over in a week, so what was the point in even thinking about it? 

_Right_. Nodding to herself as she…agreed with her own thoughts…she took greater stock of her surroundings, and realised that she wasn't all that far from where the Dove was located. She smiled; it seemed that the way to the inn was ingrained into her memory, she could probably find her way there if she was _blind_. Thom had told her that it was still in the same place, though it had apparently undergone some slight…changes. She wasn't sure what he meant by that, but he'd assured her that she'd still recognise the place, so they obviously couldn't be external changes. 

Indeed, when she rounded the very familiar street corner leading towards the Dove, she picked it out of the surrounding houses with no trouble. As Thom had told her, it didn't look any different on the outside; what could be different, then? 

Only one way to find out, she supposed, and put her hand on the front door. It didn't budge, no matter how hard she pushed. Taking a step back from it for a moment, she frowned; the door to the Dove was only closed after the first hour after midnight – and at the moment it wasn't even fully dark. Why was the door closed? 

A little apprehensively, she knocked on the door. A few moments later, a small rectangular slot in the center of the door slid to the side, showing an unkempt man's beady eyes.  
"Yeah?" he spat. "Whaddya want?"

"Is George here?" She asked, straight to the point.

"Cooper?" she nodded, the man's eyes roved over her slightly. "Dun think 'es expectin' anyone tonight, girl. Why dun you just toddle off 'ome, eh?"

"_Please_," she narrowed her eyes. "I want to see him."

"That right, eh? Look, girl, I said 'e ain't expectin' anyone, which means 'e ain't gonna be seein' anyone." He moved away from the slot, and she could tell that he'd be slamming it shut if she didn't do anything.

"Wait!" she called, hoping to stop the man before he disappeared. She peered into the small slot, glancing around the darkened interior, "Wait, please!" The man simply shook his shaggy head, and slammed something down behind the slat, blocking off her both her vision and her words. Cursing softly, she was raising her hand to knock on the door once again when she noticed a pile of disused bricks sitting beside one of the Dove's walls. That was…odd – George would never have left such an _obvious_ means of entry. Which, she supposed as she stepped onto the pile, was perhaps the point. By putting such an overt means of entry about the place, the implication was that the occupants didn't particularly care how one entered. In fact, it seemed to be expected that one would not be coming through the front door.

Well, she thought as she hauled herself up onto the roof, perhaps best to test that expectation.

Hiking her skirts (Thom had insisted she wear the garb of a Maid as well – including the full skirt. She hated it, but had agreed that no Maid would go around wearing silken breeches) above her knees, she slowly clambered across the mossy tiles, attempting to find her way over to the window she knew was Georges'. Well, as far as she knew, anyway. Perhaps 'was his' was a more accurate term. Still, she hoped that he resided here still. Thom had assured her that George remained in residence at the Dove, though she didn't know which room he was in. She made a point to ask Thom how he knew so much about George; if he was as much a pariah from Jon and her lives as Thom had made him out to be, why was Thom himself still seemingly in touch with him? Not that she was not thankful for such a fact, oh no! Just that it seemed _odd_ to her; she'd never have imagined that Thom and George would get along very well.

The window she was looking for loomed up in front of her suddenly. She was startled for a moment, her foot slipping slightly on the tiles. "Goddess, I'm too old for this." She muttered to herself as she braced her arms against the frame of the window, keeping herself from slipping any further. Once she was sure that she'd not slip, she began slowly pushing against the side of the frame, hoping that it would pop open relatively easily. To her dismay, nothing appeared to happen, so she sent a trickle of her Gift into the hinges, loosening them just so – and her subsequent push sent the window swinging open slightly.

Now was the time when she'd have to be careful. Regardless of what else he might be, George _was_ a thief, and a particularly good one at that. Sneaking into the room of a thief was not something she had wanted to do, but she had been forced this far, what was the point in turning back now? So she slipped her foot over the sill, sliding feet first into the room.

For a thirty-something out-of-shape knight wearing a full skirt, she thought she had been particularly stealthy. Unfortunately for her, this was apparently _not_ the case. Almost as soon as her feet had touched the ground, a fist came flying towards her face, seeking to strike her solidly on the temple. As her eyes flew wide in surprise, instinct took over, and she flung up her hands to ward the blow off. Thankfully, her quick actions saved her from immediate harm, but her assailant was following his initial strike up with more blows. Fending them off as best she could, Alanna concentrated purely on keeping the blows from striking her; such a tactic prevented her from getting in any attacks of her own (Which, she rationalized, would be very difficult to pull off in her current attire), and so the fight was a short one. Eventually, the assailant managed to trip Alanna up, sending her sprawling onto her back. The man, for she could tell it was a man now by his broad shoulders, came down on top of her quickly, holding cold steel to her throat. 

Though the chill of steel was nothing compared to the ice in his voice; "Tell me who sent you, and I might let y'go without much more than a few scars on that face o' yours."

"George?" It was him, of course. At least she'd gotten to him.

The knife at her throat was pushed slightly tighter; "Who are you? 'Ow do you know who I am?"

"George," she swallowed, the knife pricking at her skin as she did so. "I-It's me." 

Too late did she realise that saying such a thing wasn't the smartest thing she could have done, not when she looked like she did. "I've never seen y'before in m'life," George spoke slowly, as if going over things in his head. Keeping the knife flush with her throat, he let her up onto her feet. As soon as she was upright, he turned her about so he could look at her. "Let me ask again, and dun lie to me. Who are you?"

It was her first real look at him, and to say he had changed was an understatement. A patch over his left eye was the obvious difference, though she couldn't tell whether it was there for any purpose; George always liked to keep his opponents guessing – facing a half-blind man who later turned out to be able to see perfectly well was something he'd come up with, she was sure of it. He looked…old, too. _Her_ George would be the same age as this one, but this George looked to be another ten years older. Could it be that remaining in the Rogue for as long as this George had done so would have such a detrimental affect on his life, or was it something more…personal? Like, say, herself. Gulping slightly, she finally revealed herself to him. "It's me- It's Alanna." 

His only response was to snort at her, "Look, I dun know if you think that's supposed t' be funny or not, but it might o' 'elped if y' looked remotely like 'er."

"It's a spell," She managed to choke out, "I had to change the way I looked so I could sneak out of the palace easily." Remembering that she could remove the disguise at will – well, with a few spoken words and crumbling one of the small blocks of wax in her pocket, she spoke up. "If you let me, I can change back."

He narrowed his good eye at her, "What do y'mean?"

"I just need to recite some words, do another spell, and it'll ch-."

"And I'm supposed t' just trust that you'll not be doing another; not a spell that'll be 'arming me?" He replied, "I'm supposed t' trust some strange girl who claims t' be the bloody queen while sneaking' into m'room?"

She sighed in exasperation; _Goddess, but men could be difficult!_ "Look, I can tell you things that only I, only Alanna, would know." She answered him confidently, though internally she was slightly worried – what if things _before_ her marriage to Jon here had changed as well? "If you're convinced, then I can change back."

After a moment of consideration, George cautiously agreed. "Alright then, tell me something that'll stop me from slicing up that face o' yours."

Eyes widening in surprise, he certainly sounded…bloodthirsty, she fumbled for something of note. "Uhh. Your mother's name is Eleni." She blurted out; it had been on the tip of her tongue, the first thing she could think of, but in hindsight it was not the best of choices.

It seemed George knew it too, looking at her skeptically; "And? I may try t' keep that under wraps, but it ain't something no-one but Alanna would know." He began toying with the knife in his right hand, "If that's all y' got, then perhaps…"

"No!" she spluttered, "No! That was just-" she wracked her brains for a good example, smile spreading across her face when she found a good one. Of course, if things were different here from before she married Jon, then she was in for a lot of trouble. "The first time you kissed me," She told him, "was the day before Jon's nineteenth birthday." Allowing a small smile to creep onto her face, both from the memory of that incident and at George's dumbfounded expression, another scrap of information floated into her mind, "Oh! And the first time you expressed an interest in marrying me was the day before I left for the Drell River Valley." She hoped that would be enough for him; they were certainly memories only she and George would know – and she knew them very well. They were…important to her, memories of George's interest in her, and she'd never told another living soul, not even Jon. She wondered on that, quickly – why hadn't she told him? She'd never really mentioned George's interest in her at all; was it just because she knew he'd be jealous? She didn't know, but…maybe she should save such thoughts for another time – perhaps turn her attention back to the man who was still holding a knife to her face.

He stared evenly at her for a long while, considering, before the hand wielding said knife eventually dropped down beside his leg. His good eye was wide in astonishment, "By the Crooked God," he muttered. "It _is_ you."

Nodding, she restrained the urge to roll her eyes, "Can I do the spell, then?" She realised that doing so wasn't really necessary now – he believed that it was her, so why should she need to change back? Still, it would be nice for George to be confronting a familiar face rather than this…palace maid. As he nodded his assent, moving away from her, she reached into her pocket and retrieved one of the wax blocks. Holding it in an open palm, she intoned the words Thom had drilled into her, power pervading her words as her Gift rose within her. A nimbus of purple energy surrounded her hand, focusing on the cube of wax before moving to sheathe her entire body in its glow. At the completion of her incantation, she clenched her open palm into a fist, crushing the block within it. The illusion covering her shattered like a pane of glass, and she was herself again.

"Mithros…" she hear George whisper in wonder, "I- so it is you. Even wit' what you'd said, I still…" He stopped suddenly, letting a small smile spread over his face. Almost as suddenly as it had appeared, however, he dropped his gaze to his feet. When he looked up at her again, he seemed to be drinking her in with his eye – caressing her body with his gaze as if he were thirsty for the sight of her. She preened a little under his attention – he wasn't her George, but it was close enough, she supposed. It felt nice to be wanted, be it George or Jon. No! Not Jon, just George! What _was_ her mind going on about tonight?! She cursed her loss of focus, she couldn't be thinking about anyone but George at the moment. A view which appeared to be accurate, seeing as how when she turned her attention back to him, she noticed that his gaze was changing though - she could tell; he was looking at her with a much…harder…expression now. 

"What?" She asked, somewhat confused.

"You're here." He stated again, though with a questioning tone to it. "Why?" the icy chill had returned now, and his next words were said as if he was merely talking to a stranger, "I thought I made it perfectly clear last time y' came 'ere that y' weren't t' do so again."

That certainly threw her, "Huh? I mean…_what_?" She cursed inwardly for a moment; Thom had said there had been a falling out between the two of them - she shouldn't have expected George to take her into his arms again as soon as she showed up. It seemed that whatever had been said or done between this Alanna and this George, or however long ago it had happened in their past, it was still a very bitter memory for him. 

George frowned at her, "Y' mean, y' dun even _remember_…?" His voice was – again – icy cold, though she thought she could discern a painful tone to it as well. If it was such a bitter memory for him, the very _idea_ that she had forgotten such a conversation was just too horrible for him. She needed to fix this, but how?

"No! I mean…" _Sigh_. "I don't mean that. George, look. It's complicated, but I can explain."

"Oh, I dun doubt that," his mouth compressed into a tight line, and he injected the words with a great deal of sarcasm, "_Your Majesty_. But that dun change the fact that-" he shook his head, "Look. I dun care why you're 'ere, or what excuses you might 'ave come up with for coming 'ere when you made it quite clear last time what you think o' me. So…just leave."

"George, look-"

"Go." He whispered back, averting his eyes from her as if to put her out of mind.

That ticked her off. "Stop!" she stated firmly, voice hard but not yet raised to a yell. "Just…stop, alright? I need to tell you something."

"Is that right? Well, what if I dun want t' 'ear your excuses, _Your Maje_-"

"That's just it!" she managed to choke out, exasperation getting the better of her, "I'm not her! I'm not the Queen."

He turned back to look at her then, "So you were lying earlier, then? You're not Alanna?" He rose, bringing his knife back up again, "I knew that something was…different…about you from t' moment y' stepped in 'ere. "

"No, George, wait! I _am_ Alanna, but I'm not the queen." He was still looking at her, confused. Which was probably just as well, "I'm not the Alanna you know; I'm from a different…" What had Thom called it? "A different Universe." Ugh, that couldn't have been phrased any better, could it?

George glared at her, pointedly refusing to lower the knife. "That's…that's certainly not what I was expecting y' t'say," he admitted, blinking in surprise, "but y'still gonna be leaving now. If y'not Alanna, then I dun want t' talk t'you anyway, and if y'are 'er, then I made it perfectly clear years ago that I dun want t' talk with you, and you - _she_ made it perfectly clear that such arrangements were fine with 'er." He nodded to himself. "And that's that."

"No! That is not that! I _am_ Alanna, but I'm not the Alanna you know; and I _do_ want to talk with you!"

"Y'seem about as short tempered." The droll reply came.

She narrowed her eyes, advancing on him regardless of the knife aimed towards her. "All the more reason to believe that we're the same." She seethed, "I know you, George, in ways which no other person but Alanna would know."

Standing stoically across from her, a few paces between them, George didn't even appear to breathing. "Aye? And 'ow do y'figure that?"

Frowning, Alanna took another pace towards him, peering up into his hazel orbs. "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean, why would y'know anything about me, lass." She noted the slight tremor in his voice as he used the epithet she loved so much, "We 'aven't talked in years."

"I know you, George." She told him with conviction. It was true, she did know him – though she could tell that this George was different than her own. But they couldn't be too different, could they? Everyone else she had met here was the same as they were in her world, with the obvious exception of Thom. But George…she did know him, and she still loved him as much as she ever had, didn't she? "Even if our lives are different in this world than my own, I still know you." These…feelings…for Jon were just _nasty, evil, lusty thoughts_ that had arisen due to the situation they found themselves in, she knew that; or at least _felt_ that she knew that. So, with George here in front of her (albeit a slightly _different_ George), she knew how she felt again. He'd melted to her, as well, she could tell – his frosty demeanour that he had been displaying when she had first come in had given way to pained responses and more emotional questions. He was responding to her, something which she wanted to continue with, to be loved by him again. Because she could also sense that he still felt for her, for this Alanna; and her own feelings for George were solid in her mind once more, or so she…no, she _knew_. She repeated it like a mantra in her head, over and over as reinforcement, before finally expressing it to the man standing across from her "I love you."

Never could she have expected the reaction she got from uttering those words. George's neck snapped up, his eyes now locked on her face, anger roiling up within their hazel depths. Glancing down, she noticed that his knuckles whitened on the grip of the knife as he clutched it with all his strength. "Get out." He whispered, maniacal eyes fixed on her own.

She gaped, heart clenching in pain. What was this? What had- why had he taken what she had said this way? "But-"

"I said get out!" he roared, spittle flying as he waved the knife dangerously close to her, "Get out and take your filthy lies with you!"

She only had time to see George sink to the bed in pain, head in his hands, before she raced out of the door. Tears stinging her eyes, she flew through the crowd in the Dove's lower common room, before throwing open the heavy door (the few men who attempted to stop her were rendered too awestruck to intervene as they realised that a teary eyed Queen was attempting to pull the door open) and racing out into the night.

***

She ran.

The streets became a blur as tears filled her eyes – how could he have said that? – and she was barely conscious of her surroundings at all. Such a fact led to her falling over many times, tripping on a raised cobblestone or the like. The pain of such accidents melted in her awareness, however, as the pain in her heart consumed her. She knew it shouldn't have an affect on her – after all, this was _not her George_, but…it was hard to rationalize pain away. So she ran.

Eventually, she found herself near the Palace Gates. She had no idea how she had gotten there, but either instinct or blind luck seemed to have pulled her through. The Palace, yes – she could do with a good sleep now, to rest and to think. She had told Jon that she would be returning, anyway, and it would do no good to have him angry with her too…

George… 

Shaking her head, she strode towards the gates; the heaving breaths she was taking indicating that she must have been running for a good long while. It was worrying, she felt, that she could run seemingly for miles without even realizing where she was going. Still, perhaps she wasn't in quite as bad shape as she had thought she was.

"Stop there!" 

She cursed; of course the Guards would be quite vigilant, especially with what Thom had told them about current events. She stopped just before the gates; what else could she have done? Moreover, she realised with a start, she had not yet re-invoked her disguise – she was the Queen…albeit the queen in dirty rags. Maybe the darkness would hide her face? She could hope…

The Guardsman moved down out of the gatekeep, holding a sword up in front of his face as he stood in front of her. "Right, now then. What is your business in the castle at this hour, and can anyone vouch for you?" Alanna barely held back a sigh of relief, he hadn't noticed.

She soon realised why; he had his head buried in a roll of parchment, ready to note down her name and business if she were to be allowed entry. If he looked up…but no, she couldn't let that happen. She'd find herself in deep water if rumour of this little excursion were to spread, she knew – and such rumours could require her and Jon to lay low for a while, something which she certainly didn't want. Or did she? It might be best for her to spend a few days relaxing – she had planned to spend most of it in the city with George, but that plan was looking less likely by the minute. So, discretion was needed. 

But how to go about it? She couldn't very well ask the Guard to go and fetch Jon, could she? And he might even recognise her voice; she cursed - if only she'd gotten her disguise back up before this very encounter! Moreover, her mind simply refused to work, refused to think of another solution in it's current state of depression. George…

No! She needed to focus, she couldn't let such thoughts put her off, to fix her mind on the tas-

"Miss?" The Guard had been confused by her silence, looking up at her. "Are you alr-?" his eyes widened in shock; "Great Mithros! It's th-!"

"Be quiet!" she snapped to the guard, it was the last thing she needed to have some fool guardsman announcing her presence to more fool guardsmen. _Sigh_. "Just open the door, Guardsman."

He was still gaping, a look of sheer puzzlement emblazoned across his face while his mouth opened and closed like a fish. "Uhh, ah…"

Rolling her eyes, Alanna's frustration and unsettled nerves got the better of her, "Do it!"

"Yes, yes." He rushed off quickly, before rushing back into her line of sight, "Your majesty." She glared as he bowed, and followed him as he raced off again. The Gate creaked open, and as soon as she could she slipped through the gap. Pointedly refusing to turn back, she could still almost hear the Guardsman running around to tell his fellows about their itinerant queen.

So far? It had not been a good night.

***

"What a night," Jon sighed as he made his way into their rooms. She'd quietly made her way back up through the palace floors, keeping her head down and acting like a Maid until she was able to slip into Thom's room and retrieve her previously left behind clothing. From there, she'd made her way back here, and was enjoying a nice period of lying down. Being horizontal had not eased the weight from her mind, however – why had George reacted like that? Why did he act like he hated me? "I swear, those damn Scanran's don't half push and prod. I felt like I was before a Magistrate!"

He obviously doesn't feel something for me; that's why he reacted as he did when I told him I loved him. He couldn't be all that different from my George, could he?

"Alanna?"

Jon's voice wormed its way into her consciousness, "Hmm?"

"Are you alright?" She looked up, staring into Jon's concerned blue orbs. One could be lost in those…

Again she had to force herself to focus, "Yes, yes. I'm fine." The lie rolled off her tongue easily, not even a tremor in it. 

It didn't trick this, her greatest friend, however. He tilted his head to the side as if to say please, don't try that on me. He sank down onto the bed beside her, "Alanna," he began, still keeping his gaze fixed on her, "you can tell me. What happened tonight?"

Could she tell him? Something had seemed…off…earlier when she had mentioned George. Possibly something had- No. She could trust Jon, she could believe in him. She _had_ to, it seemed, if they were to get through this. "George." She choked out, "I went to see George."

He nodded; of course, he already knew that. "What happened?"

Tears began to well at the sides of her eyes again, but she wouldn't let them fall. She had been through the madly crying phase already - she was over that now. It still hurt, however, to think on it. "He hates me." She whispered simply, "I got him to believe that it was me, that was easy enough. But then…" shaking her head to, she supposed, deny the prospect, "He was so cruel – I can tell that what I, what the other Alanna, did to him in this world was horrible. He hasn't gotten over it; and then when I told him that I loved him he yelled at…-" she noticed Jon leaning slightly away, shifting his weight on the bed, "What?"

"Hmm?" he queried, innocently. "I'm sorry? You were still describing what happened."

She frowned, "No. Why did you do that?"

"What?"

_Don't give me the run around! _"Why did you move away? Just then?"

He blinked. "I didn't." he muttered, unconvincingly.

Rolling her eyes, she gave him a slight grin. "Oh you so did, and you know it too." He shrugged, and her grin widened. "Why?"

Jon squirmed for a response "I was trying to get comfortable." She just looked at him, imitating his little skeptical head-tilt. "Okay, fine. You want the truth?"

She let an eyebrow rise up, "Ah, yes. Yes I do. What I've been trying to get since the beginning of the conversation, actually." She enjoyed this, this banter between them. It was a staple of their relationship, always had been, and it allowed her to focus her attention on something else...

…Though not for long. "I moved away because I was uncomfortable," Jon replied, sighing heavily. "And I was uncomfortable because I…I can't help it – getting uncomfortable – when I hear about you and George; your marriage."

"Why?" she truly had no idea what he was talking about.

He sighed again, about as heavily as before. "I don't know. I just-" he trailed off, pensively.

"Just what?" Blushing slightly, he turned away from her. She began to worry, and reached out for his shoulder, putting a hand on it. "Jon? Please – you can tell me."

He laughed softly at her repetition of his own words, "I suppose I can, at that." He whispered, taking her hand in his. He turned back to her, though he kept his eyes downcast. She supposed that was for the best – with her own seemingly re-ignited lust for the man, and his current proximity, it was probably quite a good thing that she couldn't drown herself in those bottomless pools. "I have to tell you something, and I think it might come as a surprise."

She nodded, the worry increasing. What was he going to tell her, and what did it have to do with George and her? "Okay. Fire away."

He licked his lips, obviously very nervous. "I think that I'm…" he cut off, pursing his lips. What he wanted to say was obviously something very…difficult to get out.

"Jon," she told him, leaning in slightly to him, "You _can_ tell me anything, you know that, right?" His eyes rose to peer into her own, and she found herself thinking about his handsome jaw again. Maybe if she just ran her fingertip along there…? No! No, no, no! _Bad Alanna!_ The thoughts remained however, and she squeezed out the next words as if to just reaffirm her own thoughts – "After all, we've been friends for decades; _nothing_ can come between that." _Not even these thrice-be-damned lusty, wrong thoughts! Shoo!_

So wrapped up in her own thoughts was she that she didn't notice the flash of pain spread across Jon's face, before he dropped his gaze again. "You're right, of course." He mumbled, "I can tell you _anything_." Nor did she catch the self loathing injected into the last sentence.

Finally getting her focus back (and she was most unimpressed with her own thinking. For a moment there she had wondered what it would be like to sit alongside him and- Well, she was most annoyed with her lack of focus tonight. She supposed that what George had said to her shook her up a lot worse than what she had originally realised – it was _that_ which was causing these thoughts, yes. Though that small, annoyingly logical part of her brain kept reminding her that she had been fantasizing about Jon earlier this afternoon…but she stomped that voice quickly!) "Now, Jon," she began after she'd regained her center, "What was it that you think you are?"

"What?" he asked suddenly, "Oh, right." He glanced away from her suddenly, though he retained his grip on her hands. He took a long breath, as if steeling himself, though his words were delivered a shade flippantly, like they were easier to say than he had expected. "Yes. I think that I'm falling out of love with Thayet." He told her quietly.

She gaped, shocked. "Oh Jon, that's…" she swallowed the bulge of emotion in her throat. "I'm sorry." She twined her arms around his shoulders, holding him tightly. Perhaps a little tighter than she should have, "Are you sure? I mean, is it just because-"

"Because we're here?" he finished her sentence, his head to the left hand side of her own, "Well, that is a tiny part of it, I suppose. I guess being here has made me…re-evaluate things. But I was feeling this before we even arrived here. I don't know, I guess it's just that we're not the same people we were when we married; and while I love that Thayet, I don't feel the same now."

She didn't know what to say to that, and resigned herself to just offering him support in the only way she could. She stroked his back, hopefully in a soothing motion. Comfort was something she wasn't used to offering, but it was _Jon!_ She could certainly _try_ for her best friend! "I'm sorry." She whispered.

Jon shushed her, "It's not your fault, don't apologise." He told her, "I'm not even sure if it's such a bad thing."

That confused her, "What?" she withdrew her arms then, but allowed him to grasp them as they slid down his arms. She sat across from him now, hands clasped in his. "What do you mean?"

He looked at her intently, "Because I don't think I was happy. I don't think she was happy, either. At least now I'm not deluding myself."

"You weren't happy?"

"No." he shook his head, "No I wasn't. I don't think I could be."

"Why not?" she asked, genuinely curious.

Jon continued to stare at her intently, softly running his thumbs over the backs of her hands. He licked his lips again, before he steeled himself once more. "Because I don't think I was with the woman I love."

She frowned, "But who then?" Did she know her? He'd been with Thayet for the past twenty years or so – could he have had a mistress in that time? She didn't want to think it, but who else? Maybe an old love, a flame from his past like…

Like her. 

_Oh._

Her widening eyes must have given Jon an indication of her thoughts, and he leant towards her. "I know I shouldn't be doing this, putting you under this pressure," he whispered softly, "but I had to get it off my chest."

Alanna was frozen, "W-w-what?"

"I love you, Alanna." Jon told her softly. Frozen as she was, she didn't put up any resistance as Jon tentatively ducked his head in towards hers, pressing his lips to hers…


	5. Passionation

A/N – I would say that this chapter is also weird, but I've had it pointed out to me that saying such a thing may be just my own insecurities playing up ^_^

I am worried about this chapter, in that I feel that some may like it while others do not, but if you've enjoyed reading so far – I do implore you to stay involved in it. The plot is, as far as I'm concerned, a particularly interesting one, and one which leaves a great scope for me to continue afterwards.

So…if you like it, great! Please review it! If you don't like it…great! Please review it and tell me _why_ you didn't like it, or whether the plot was kind of thin, or whatever…In general – review, please! -_^

***

While her body was frozen, her mind was working overtime as Jon thoroughly kissed her. _What is he doing? This is wrong – isn't it? This world is different from our own; could it be affecting Jon? Could it be affecting me? Do I _want_ to stop this? What about George?_

No! She couldn't do this – things were so complicated already. The feelings she had been having lately needed to be nipped in the bud before they could get out of control, and indulging in them now – however small any repercussions may be – was not the way to go about that. _Although it does feel nice – but he didn't take my own feelings into consideration…!_ Jon had begun to trail a hand up her arm, presumably so that he could enfold her in his arms, and it was this which stung her into action. "No," She mumbled into his lips, pulling away from him savagely, bringing a hand to her lips. 

Jon looked at her with a confused glance, a glance which almost instantly began to dissolve into one of pain. "Alanna," he whispered hoarsely as he turned away from her. "What have I-? I'm _so _sorry Alanna, I shouldn't have done that."

"No," she repeated, mumbling through the hand against her lips. "No you shouldn't have." She knew it was harsh, but it was also the truth. He _shouldn't_ have done it, no matter how nice it had felt. She'd forgotten what his kisses were like; their strength of them, like a roiling wave in the ocean, building and building and never letting one rest. But…_that's not the issue!_ Her mind cried; she knew it wasn't, she really did. It wasn't – Jon shouldn't have done it, least of all because he had not considered what she wanted. 

"I'm sorry," Jon whispered again, standing up from the bed and moving slowly away from her. "I'll just…" he pointed to the door without looking at her, and began to shuffle towards it. "I'll just go, alright? I'll leave you alone."

"Jon, wait-" she croaked, as she stood swiftly, reaching out towards him. He turned back to her, and she could almost see how pained his thoughts were. His face seemed to just _shout_ at her.   
"Yes?" He whispered. She realised that he could possibly be thinking that she had changed her mind about things, although – _to a worryingly small extent, be honest_ – she hoped that this was not the case. But she needed to dispel that notion quickly.

"I-" she began, before shaking her head softly – the right words to say slipping into her mind. "You know that this is wrong, Jon. We're both married to other people now, and…it's just the situation we're in, don't you see? You wouldn't be saying these things, we wouldn't be feeling these things if it weren't for what has been happening to us lately. Don't you see that? It's just not right, Jon – not right to be doing it to ourselves, or to George or Thayet. Not right to be doing it to our _children_, Jon." 

And she was right on this; she knew that. It was just plain _wrong_ – in every way you thought about it. Except, of course, in her heart – within which it felt more right than anything else in the world. But she knew that she couldn't live with the heart leading her way; passion was a major part of her life, true, but passion caused more trouble than good, sometimes, and she had a feeling that this was such a time.

It appeared that Jon realised this also, as his eyes fell to the floor. "I know," he whispered after a long moment, "I know it's wrong, Alanna."

"Good," she replied. "That's good." Was it, though? Alright – she knew and accepted that the two of them couldn't…become involved…in any sense of the word. She knew that without question. But was it _good_? Did it make her feel _good_? That was another matter…

"But I can't – no, I _won't _deny how I feel about you, Alanna," Jon continued, fire in his voice as he moved his eyes back up to her face. "I won't take back what I said, because I mean it. Meant every word." He steeled his jaw, as if awaiting a physical blow from her.

_Damn stubborn man, maybe a good punch would set his head back on straight…!_

She beat down the slightly more…bloodthirsty…thought with some difficulty, although she was half inclined to follow its advice. "Jon," she warned, voice somewhat chillier, "As I said, we're only feeling like this because of the situation we're in – it's not something _real_."

Jon shook his head, "You're wrong," He told her, conviction palpable in his tone. "I know my thoughts, and I know that I've been feeling this for a _long _time. About as long as it's been since Thayet and I have really connected on a personal level. And do you know why we can't do so?" he asked of her, turning on his heel and throwing his hands in the air. She felt a slight tremor of worry – his mood was becoming slightly…disturbing. He turned back to her, and she shook her head slightly in answer. "Well I'll tell you. Because we're not in love anymore and haven't been for some time! Because she doesn't even sleep in the same bed as I do anymore! Because the only reason she puts up with the Court functions is because of what we _had_, not what we are – because I love _you_, Alanna. I love you, and she knows it." 

To claim that Alanna was shocked at this revelation was something of an understatement, her thoughts possibly being better appraised as dumbfounded. Or perhaps she would have described herself as being flabbergasted; she hadn't yet decided. She had been shocked when Jon had revealed that he _merely thought_ that he was falling out of love with Thayet, but to hear _this…_And Thayet _knew_ what Jon felt…? Jon had been 'feeling' this way for longer than they had been _here_…? "What?" She managed to stammer out eventually.

Sighing, Jon sat down on the bed once more. "I just- I needed to get that off my chest, I think." He told her softly, staring straight ahead as he did. Suddenly, he gave a hollow laugh, its harshness echoing about the room slightly. "It's strange." 

"What is?" She asked, wondering whether doing so was the smart choice.

He shook his head in disbelief "It's just that I feel so much better, and so much worse, for doing so. Saying that, I mean."

Another question popped into her mind; she debated whether or not to ask it, but eventually decided that they'd already gone this far; "Did you mean it?"

"What I said?"

She nodded.

"Yes." He replied, turning his head up to look at her. "I did. I do."

"All of it?"

Jon nodded, responding a moment later with a question of his own. "Which parts can't you accept?"

Spluttering, Alanna simply shook her head. "What, besides most of them?" She sighed as Jon simply stared at her, "No, all right. I won't presume to judge your opinion on your…relationship with your wife," Jon nodded to this, almost imperceptibly, but she continued regardless, "But I don't think that Thayet knows of any feelings on your part for me, and I'm not so sure that you're thoughts on such…" she swallowed, "_feelings_ are particularly clear at the moment."

"So you won't presume on my wife and her position, but you're perfectly willing to presume you know my own feelings?" 

"No!" she replied, before realizing that this was exactly what she was doing. "Well, yes – but the two are completely different!"

"How?"

"Because!" Jon raised an eyebrow, and she rolled her eyes. "Because I _know_ you! I know you well enough to know your thoughts, to know how you think!"

"And I know you, Alanna!" Jon told her, rising up off the bed and standing before her. "I know you, and I know that you're trying to rationalize this away! You're trying to subvert your own feelings – burying them deep inside of you instead of dealing with them!"

Folding her arms, Alanna leveled her best glare at her friend. "Really?" she asked, skeptically. "And what exactly makes you think that?" He wasn't right – _are you sure about that? _– and she wouldn't entertain the idea any more. It would be best to just go to sleep elsewhere for the night, to just leave all this alone for the moment.

But Jon had latched onto the thought already; "What makes me think that?" he replied, "What – apart from the fact that you always seem to do this? What about George?"

Narrowing her eyes, Alanna wondered where he was going with this. "What about him?"

"You didn't talk to him at all about his feelings over the first few years you knew him, you just let him pine away for you without ever confronting him about them."

"_What_? Of course I talked to him about them! What right do you have to talk to me about how I treated George?"

Jon shook his head, "You never talked to him about them. You told him that he was being silly; that he wasn't feeling what he felt – that he should just stop acting how he was. You _told_ him how he should think, you never once thought about how he actually _did_ feel."

She couldn't believe what he was saying. Indeed – what right did he have to say such things? Such spiteful things? "I never-"

"But you did, don't you see?" Jon interjected, a more moderate tone accompanying the words. "And I think you're doing the same now."

Alanna stood silent for a moment, shaking her head slowly. Could he be-? No, he couldn't be; besides! That was a long time ago – she was only a girl, then! "No."

"What?"

"I'm not. You're totally mistaken. I love George." _Maybe if you keep telling yourself that…_No! She did love George, she knew she did. But…that didn't necessarily discount the fact that she _was_ having these…'feelings' for Jon, did it?

"Alanna-"

"What?" she spat, "Why would you think I felt anything for you besides friendship? Why would you say such things about me?"

"I didn't," Jon whispered to her, "You did; or did you think I wouldn't catch it?"

"Catch what?" she replied, somewhat confused. 

"The constant reference to the way _we_ feel, that _we've_ only been feeling these things because of what's happened to _us_." He told her, softly, as if revealing some dark secret. In a way – he was. She hadn't realised she'd said that, though now she thought about it…she knew he wasn't lying. She _had_ said those things; but did it mean anything?

She didn't know, and if she were honest with herself, she wasn't sure she _wanted_ to know. _I love George! I love our life together, I love our Children!_ "I-" she tried to speak, but her throat caught as she realised that this wasn't the point. It never had been. As she had told herself many times before this night she _knew_ she loved George. She wouldn't, she _couldn't_ deny that to herself…but she _was_ feeling these emotions. She shouldn't deny that.

But what other choice was there? Act on them? No – that would cause far more harm than good…but she couldn't just deny them. Maybe she should just release the tension a little; like a valve on a winepress, let out the tension slightly so the structure didn't burst. But letting herself go in such a fashion could lead to so much more. Something which she definitely did not want to experience; not because she didn't necessarily want to, but because of the effect it could have on others around her.

"Alanna," her attention was brought back to the present, as she realised that Jon had moved closer to her. He was standing _very_ close to her now, as he raised a hand to her face, pushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "You can't deny what you feel for ever."

Was he right? She didn't know – "W-what about our families?" She whispered, softly.

Jon looked down for a moment – shamed – before looking back into her eyes, determination etched into his face. He let a thumb caress the side of her cheek, and – somewhat to her horror – she let herself lean into its touch. He lowered his head to the side of her neck, pressing his lips to her skin. "They never…" he murmured against it, before repeating the deliciously sensual kiss again. "Have to know." He finished, sliding a hand to the back of her head. "They won't ever know, Alanna."

"They won't ever know," she repeated to herself as Jon brought his head around into her vision once more. She looked into his icy blue eyes, and knew that he was going to kiss her soon. If he kissed her, she also knew, that he wouldn't stop – and that she probably wouldn't _want_ him to stop. Her attraction to him was still there – in some ways it always had been there, but this…proximity to him of late simply brought it to the fore. Maybe…? No. She couldn't let herself give in to this; not like _this_ anyway – she knew that neither herself nor Jon were particularly thinking their clearest at the moment. Their families may never know, but _she_ would always know that she had given in to it, and she couldn't handle that. "No." she whispered, making her mind up.

"No?" Jon echoed, questioningly.

She continued to stare into his eyes as she moved back slightly, disentangling herself from his grasp. "No. Not like this."

"Not like this?" 

Sighing, Alanna dropped her gaze. "You were right," she told him, "I do have feelings for you. But they're just lust, I know that they're just lust – and I won't give into them. I _can't_ Jon, it's just not right." She looked up at him again, "I'm sorry."

He ran a hand through his hair, his eyes shut – as if he were attempting to keep the sight of her away. "No," he told her, pained. "No reason to apologise. You've done nothing wrong here."

Even though he couldn't see it, she nodded to herself. At least he could recognise that fact – she, nor he for that matter, were to blame here. Things were…strange….here, and they were not thinking clearly. "No I didn't," she said to him. "And it's good that you recognise that."

Jon just sighed softly.

"You're still my friend, Jon." She told him, "my closest friend besides George. More importantly than that, we need each other to get through…this." She waved her arm around at the room they were in, "This situation we find ourselves in. _I_ need you."

He nodded, almost imperceptibly. After a long moment of silence, he opened his eyes softly – even in the low light of their bedchamber, she could tell that the blue was red-rimmed now. A slightly trembling grin was forced onto his lips; "I should probably get some blankets, then." He said, "I'll take the floor, then."

It was her turn to nod – "That would be for the best, Jon." And it would be. Temptation – for both of them! – couldn't be easily fought when you shared a bed with the object of ones attention. "Thank you."

***

It was still before dawn when she awoke, a slight red haze entering in through the open windows beside the bed. Blinking her eyes once or twice to remove the sleep in them, she rolled to the side – staring out the window. From her current position, she couldn't see a single part of the city below, the deep red sky seeming to have no ending nor beginning. It was beautiful, in a way, although George had always maintained that having a sky bathed in the colour of dried blood was never a particularly good omen. "Beauty exists all around us," she softly whispered to herself, "It's just depends on how you look at things."

"What?" came a groggy voice from beside the bed. 

She frowned slightly, wondering exactly who – or perhaps what, had made the sound. As she shifted to the bedside, to get a glimpse of who it could be, the memories of the past few days came back to her. She was in Corus, in the bed of the King and Queen – and Jon was sleeping beside the bed. "Good morning, Jon." She said softly as she leant back down into the pillows. They were _nice_ and soft; she'd have to ask Jon how expensive they were when they returned to their own world – she wanted some.

"G'morning." He replied. After a long moment, his voice rose again from his position on the floor. "What did you say before?"

"Nothing," she said. "Just musing about the view from this window."

"_Musing_?" she heard him chuckle slightly, "Since when did you say _musing_?"

"I have a very wide vocabulary, Jonathon of Conte," she replied, affecting a shocked tone. "I do, after all, have quite a learned father who ensures that his daughter is both worldly and wise."

"Good old Myles." 

She smiled to herself. _Good old Myles indeed._ A thought struck her; "How was it, sleeping down there? I hope you don't have any weird cramps or anything."

"Oh no," he replied. She could _hear_ his smile. "I must say, our stone floors are actually quite comfortable. We could rent out the hallways as bedding if we ever needed the money."

She laughed softly at that. At least his spirits weren't altogether shot from recent events – and that was something which they both needed. They couldn't be put off by what had happened to them, they needed to keep positive that they'd return home. Perhaps unfortunately, however, the conversation had another affect which she could well have done without – reminding Jon about just _why_ he was on the floor.

"Look, Alanna." Jon sighed softly after a minute or so, "Just about last night…" he trailed off, and she guessed that he was waiting for her to prompt him to continue – asking without words whether she were comfortable with having a conversation on this.

"Yes?" she wasn't sure if she was comfortable, but there was no point putting it off.

"I-I just wanted to say that I'm sorry for…what I said."

She waited for a moment, wondering if he was going to add anything else. He didn't, and she thought about how to reply. What _exactly _was he referring to? Was he sorry for what he said about…his feelings, or for what he said about her? She wasn't sure, and decided that it would probably be best to just ask him. "All of it?" she replied, after mustering up some courage beforehand. 

"Well…I-" Jon stopped, suddenly, and she heard him shuffling about beside her. His head popped into view, his tousled black hair almost causing her to giggle; she could tell that by his expression, he was somewhat confused. "I'm not sure I entirely understand what you're asking, Alanna."

She gave him a forced grin; "Just…what are you apologizing for?"

"I'm not sure," he told her, truthfully. "I am sorry for what I said about you; about how you treated George. That was none of my business, and I'm sorry that I said what I did."

"Apology accepted." She stated simply. That was easily taken care of; she wasn't sure if Jon was right on that, but at the end of the day – it was so long ago now, an she _knew_ that all three of them – George, Jon and herself – had grown so much in the intervening period that it really didn't matter. 

"A-and I'm sorry for what I said about…uh." He grimaced, "What I…proposed…to you."

She nodded softly. "I…Yes, apology accepted, Jon." The grin was more natural this time; a wide and warm smile. "I know that neither of us were particularly thinking straight last night. But…you know that it can't happen, don't you Jon? It's just not right."

Jon bobbed his head up and down, slowly. He looked…well, unhappy was the obvious choice. She continued looking at him for a while, looking at his expression and the way the ever-increasing light played with his features. At some point during her visual examination, Jon turned to look at her, and the two of them seemed locked together by their shared gaze. She stared into his eyes from her horizontal position, gazing into their icy-warm depths. "No," Jon intoned after a moment, "not right at all."

Her cheeks flushed slightly, and she decided that it would be for the best if she were to just get up; get moving. Pulling herself out of bed, and making sure that she kept most of her skin covered (She had slept in a night shirt, true, but there was still the matter of her legs), she quickly slipped into a nicely trimmed robe, pulling it closed around her. It was strange; but she could tell that this robe would have been hers in this world – it was feminine, to be sure; but it was not_ too_ feminine, something she had always held a slight distaste for. It was…just right. 

Dismissing such idle thoughts, she turned back to Jon and the bed. As she did so, she noticed him quickly averting his eyes from her. "What?" she asked.

"What?" he replied, innocently.

She rolled her eyes, "Never mind." Of course she knew what he had been looking at, and it felt…nice, in a way – but it would be best for them both if he didn't. 

Still, probably best to just put it behind them. "So," she began to babble, moving around the room in an attempt to get herself organized. "Anything of importance today? I mean, not that you necessarily should know everything that happens around here because, heck – let's face it; you're just a man, despite what you may think of yourself or what court ladies may well think about you. B-but I mean have you heard anything-"

"You look beautiful this morning."

She stopped her train of thought, stopped blathering altogether, mouth agape. A shirt that she had just picked up lay limply in her hands as she stood with her back to the bed and Jon. "W-w-what did you say?" she softly asked. 

"I just…I…" she heard him sigh, "Nothing. I didn't say anything."

Closing her eyes, Alanna felt like sighing herself. Why was he doing this? Couldn't he just…ignore it? "Why are you making this so hard, Jon?" she whispered, _desperately_ wanting to know. She – and he, she hoped – knew that they couldn't…do…what they both wanted to here, it would be too painful to all involved. So why wasn't he just trying to ignore it.?

"Am I?" he said, simply. "I didn't think I was."

She shook her head softly, "Could you just…not say things like that, please?"

"What, compliment you?"

"Yes! I mean…" she fumbled for something to say; "You know what I mean."

He looked at her steadily for a while, before nodding softly. "Alright."

"Good. Now; what are your plans for the day?"

As much as one could do so, sitting on the floor beside a bed, Jon shrugged his shoulders. "I'm not altogether sure; Gary tends to organize those sorts of things. Although I do know that I have to meet with the Scanran's at lunch." He nodded to her, "I think Gary's going to want you to come to that."

"Me?" she queried, somewhat surprised. "Why me?"

"You are the Queen, Alanna." Jon reminded her, "I do think that they would like to consider themselves as being received by the Tortallan Royalty in its' entirety."

"Oh." _Damn_. 

"I don't know; it's not going to be too long, I don't think. Plus they've already grilled me enough, so I don't think they're going to be going to work on you very much."

She blinked at that. "What do you mean?"

"Just that I've given them the impression that I don't listen to your advice very often." He replied, far too calmly.

"Oh." Oh indeed; was that a good thing, or a bad thing? She wasn't sure. "Oh, well. That's…nice."

"What about you?" Jon asked, "What were you going to do?"

She shrugged, deciding that it would be a good time to start her organizing again. She threw the shirt down onto the bed, leaving it there for later when she had hoped to get some sword-training in. "I'm not altogether sure. I guess that I'll have to work things around this lunch…thing…at any rate, so that kind of cuts into my time. I was hoping to chat to Thom again at some point, but I suppose that I could do that later."

"Say hello to him for me if you do catch up to him."

"I'll do that," Alanna replied, feeling somewhat glad that he didn't attempt to get involved in such a meeting. Not that she didn't want him around, not really (in fact, she wanted him _very_ close, but that kind of thinking was liable to grant her lots and lots of emotional pain. Not good.), but she just wanted to talk to Thom alone for a bit. Catch up with him; stick close. She'd lost her brother before she'd really gotten to know the 'older and wiser' Thom of Trebond in the real world; it would be nice to just get to know this Thom a little closer before they were forced to go. She'd worried that perhaps doing so wasn't the best of ideas; that leaving after getting to know this Thom would be harder than if she avoided him – but…no. She'd decided that she shouldn't pass up on this…opportunity to have her brother with her again. Besides, she would be talking and interacting with this Thom a lot anyway, what with the memory spell and attempting to work out how they'd gotten here; avoiding him would be almost impossible anyway. "I'll ask if he's managed to locate any amber, too. For the spell." She added, after a pause. 

She hadn't meant them to, but the words seemed to remind Jon that they didn't belong here – that they _belonged_ back in the real world, with their other loved ones. Something that she herself needed reminding of too, if she were honest with herself. 

A knock at the door startled the both of them, and they shared a look momentarily, wondering who it could be. She shrugged – she didn't have a clue, and Jon nodded. "Come in," he shouted, raising himself off the floor quickly. Despite her better wisdom, Alanna snuck a quick glance at his – now exposed, not to mention rather sculpted – chest and torso. Thankfully, she didn't think Jon caught her doing so; she quickly averted her gaze and mentally chastised herself for acting this way. _You're weak! You're a hussy!_

"Morning all," Gary strode through the door, a small tray in his hands holding various scrolls, along with a quill and inkbottle. "Hope you slept well."

"Thank you, Gary." Jon replied, smiling wearily. "I slept like a rock."

Alanna smiled at that, the expression subsequently widening into a grin at seeing Gary's face. "Isn't it 'slept like a log'?" He asked, confused by Jon's comment. 

"Yes Gary."

"Then why-?"

"Never mind, Gary."

The Prime Minister frowned for a moment, before shrugging. "I don't think I'll ever really understand either of you," he told the two of them, "You're both just too weird. I guess that's why you work so well together."  
Alanna's grin faded at that, and she turned her gaze to Jon. He too was looking at her, a serious (almost _too _serious for her liking) glint in his eyes. "I suppose so," the King replied. "I suppose so."

***

She'd left them soon after, excusing herself from their presence with the explanation that she wanted to do some training to 'keep her edge'. Gary had, by this time, had Jon signing various proclamations and edicts, so neither one of them really noticed her exit. It was, in its own way, quite nice to get away from Jon for a while. The last few hours – the morning and the previous evening, had been somewhat too…intense for her. Her heart was taking a pounding, it had begun to feel, and a few hours of physical exertion would be good for her.

So she'd slipped on some clothing which would allow for freedom in movement, and made her way down to the training courts. Some of the Pages were in here already; she remembered that Pages were forced to work before the Squires from her own days among their ranks. Such a hierarchy was unfair, somewhat, but it did force the younger boys – and girls! – to toughen up. Something which, to her, wasn't necessarily all that bad. A knight couldn't be coddled; they had to be tempered like the swords they wielded.

Still, these boys seemed to be somewhat…new…to the palace. Once she entered the courtyard, it seemed that all activity within it simply ceased. The Pages stood there, mouths agape at the sight of her. Various trainers, some of which she thought she recognised from the real world, gave her a nod of respect, before turning back to their charges. She smirked a little when she overheard one of them yelling to the young lads;

"Alright ya 'orrible lot! If yer this stumped by a lady in a trainin' court, then what'll ya be like when yer facin' women fighters in the field, eh?"

"But master," a Page piped up, "That's the Queen!"

"Damn right it is," came the response, accompanied by much spittle, "And I bet she'd best the lot of ya even when, nah…even _if_ yer ever become knights!" The instructor turned to her again, and gave her a slight bow.

People bowing…to _her_? It felt _so_ very odd.

But she smiled graciously, and gave the young pages a slight wave. They seemed to shocked to wave back, until the drill-master barked at them to 'show respect to yer Queen, louts!' after which they seemingly fell over themselves in an attempt to wave the hardest. She laughed softly, and decided that she'd probably disrupted their training enough. Making her way over to an unused corner, she picked up a heavy practice sword and tucked it under her arm, determined as she was to ensure that her skills didn't slip too much.

After making sure that no-one was planning to use the area of the court she had decided to occupy, she began her stretches. The comforting ache of stretched limbs reassured her that she was still in some shape, albeit not her best, and she soon set to work. Parries, thrusts, twists, kicks, punches, twirls, slashes – she could still do them all. Perhaps not with as much strength or flair as she once mustered, but she was thankful that her speed seemed to remain. She had trained slightly yesterday, true, but she'd not critiqued herself quite as much as she was now – and it was good to know that she still measured up to her own exacting standards. She could improve in areas, there was no doubt about that, but she had also accepted that she _was_ getting old now. She never would again be in the shape she was at 17, and there was no point in worrying over this fact. 

In her mind, she was in incredible shape for a woman her age. And that simple thought, the ease with which she managed to make it through her training session, cheered her up immensely.

***

After her training session, and after having to brush through the crowd of onlookers (this being the most _irritating_ part of royalty to date, or so she believed. Being just the Lioness was bad enough, but being the Queen as well? No, the crowds were abominable.), she discovered that it was still a few hours until midday. She wasn't sure when Jon would like her to be 'ready' for this lunch with the Scanran delegation – and how 'ready' did she need to be? Was this a formal thing? Did she need to wear a dress for this? She hadn't the slightest clue, and it's not as if she could ask a maid about it. She needed to ask Jon about that – but decided that she didn't really have the time to do anything of any real note. She decided, however, that she probably had the time to talk to Thom, at least.

So she made her way towards Thom's rooms in the east tower, hoping that he would be in. Thom didn't seem the type to be roaming the city from sunup till sundown, she knew that, but it never did to just expect that people would be present. Still, she thought as she reached the corridor that Thom's rooms were located within, it appeared that she need not have worried. She gave a slight grin as she took in the doorway; a relatively plain wooden thing, except for the enspelled inscription clearly blazing away with magickal fire that read 'Go Away!'.

She raised her hand to knock on the door, but paused for a moment – this fire couldn't hurt her, could it? She didn't know, and it probably wouldn't do to have her hand badly burnt. So she stepped back from it slightly, readying herself to call out to her brother inside so that he could bring the spell down. Suddenly, however, a raised voice – Thom's voice – came from within the room, causing her to hold off on any attempt to attract his attention, slightly curious as she was. 

"…tell me where he is!" she could hear him yelling loudly, "Or by the Graveyard Hag you'll regret it. What? No! Of course I'm not going to pay you that much for them!" Alanna frowned; she couldn't hear any other voice coming from within the room – she supposed that Thom must be magickally communicating with someone. "Look, just get them for me, alright? Or I'll take my _business_ elsewhere, do you understand me?" She could hear him sighing loudly. What _was_ he talking about? Was this something about the amber, or another one of his projects? And did he have to be so caustic about it? She supposed that she really shouldn't presume on how he should act – she didn't know anything about who he was talking with, perhaps they _deserved_ to be treated in such a fashion. Thom cursed to himself, before his voice almost became too low to hear. "Just tell him that if he doesn't get those gems here in four days, then- What? Yes, yes. Alright….very well. Goodbye, Blayce." A pause, before a short – "Why do I associate so with idiots?"

Well…that was altogether confusing, or so she thought. Still, she supposed that it was nothing to do with her. Shrugging, she decided to call out to her brother. "Thom? You in there?"

There was a pause, a fairly long length of time, to be honest. Then, just before she was about to call out again, Thom's voice came back at her. "Alanna?"

"Yes," she replied, her voice raised slightly. "Can I come in?"

"Oh, yes. Definitely." 

She frowned, "Will these flames hurt me?"

"No, no." came the reply, "Just push the door open."

She was a little worried, but she also believed her brother; putting her hand on the burning W and pushing in. The door swung open easily, and her hand didn't feel hot in the slightest. She glanced up at her brother when he came into sight, and she smiled. "Neat little trick you've got there."

He smiled in reply, "Yes, very useful. Keeps the maids away like you wouldn't believe."

"You don't like maids?" she asked, "After the way you knew the measurements of that maid I was turned into last night, I may have thought you quite liked them." She grinned in an almost lascivious manner at him.

He rolled his eyes at her, "Oh Alanna, your jibes hurt so!" she laughed softly at his dramatics, and he eventually joined in. After he had calmed himself, he answered her seriously. "No, I have nothing against maids, although I do against maids who come in here and move everything around. I have a great many research projects coming along, spells that have precise alignments and the like. Having a maid move a spell which has taken more than a month to set up is not something I'd like to have repeated."

"You mean-?" she stifled a giggle, "Wow. I wouldn't have liked to be that maid after you found out about it."

"No," Thom replied softly, "No I don't think you would."

Alanna blinked at that, Thom hadn't…done…anything to her, had he? "Huh." She grunted, simply. Maybe it was best that she didn't know, after all. 

Looking up at her suddenly, Thom let a wide smile creep over his features. "So, dear sister," he said, "how are you this delightful morn?"

"Very dramatic," she told him, grinning in reply. "Well done."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. And I'm fine, had a good training session this morning that cheered me right up."

Thom grimaced, "I still don't see how physically exhausting yourself in such a manner can make you feel _good_."

She decided that it might be fun to poke fun at him, "Just because you're a little out of shape…" 

"I am not out of shape!" Thom indignantly cried, "I am the very image of a wonderfully svelte court Sorcerer." She raised an eyebrow. Thom sighed dramatically once more, throwing up his hands; "Honestly, Alanna. A Queen should never lie, it's quite unbecoming."

"Well its' good that I'm not a Queen then," she told him with a chuckle, "Since I'm not lying."

Thom shook his head, "Muscle-brained idiot." He muttered.

"Weedy shrimp" she shot back.

"Oh very nice!" her brother retorted, "Besides, what are you then? Some kind of giant-among men?" she rolled her eyes at that, but he didn't give up. "I'm taller than you, at any rate."

"Are not!"

"Well, I can _make_ myself taller than you. Fairly easily, in fact."

"That's cheating." She whined, mouth hanging wide open in protest.

Thom raised a finger at her, waggling it back and forward. "Now, now, dear sister. Since when was life ever fair? I thought we learnt that particular lesson the moment our father decided to ignore our wishes and send us off to the very places we didn't want to go?"

She grumbled at that, he was right – but she didn't want him to know that she knew that. _Besides, I could still beat him any day_. She comforted herself with this thought; a very nice thought at that. "Bah." She stated, simply, and Thom simply smiled at her. He knew that she'd conceded defeat – she'd have to get him back somehow. Perhaps…putting him on the spot might be a place to start? "What kind of gems?" she asked, out of the blue.

Her attempt to catch Thom off guard worked admirably. Her brother spun to face her, his eyes bulging till they seemed the size of an orange. "W-w-what did you say?" he managed to stutter out after a moment.

_Yes! And she lands a hit of her own…_ she thought, smiling to herself. "What kind of gems were you looking for?" She reiterated, "I heard you asking someone for gems before I came in here."

"Oh," Thom replied, eyes still bulging slightly. "Oh, just…you know. Gems."

"Yes, gems." She spoke slowly, as one would to a child. "What sort?"

Thom fumbled his hands around, as if he were attempting to _show_ her through mime. "Oh, uh, you know. Uh…" He sucked in a breath, seeming to visibly recover himself. "Sorry, just a little thrown by the question." He explained to her, smiling at her. "Though I guess that was your intention."

She grinned. "Yup." Thom rolled his eyes slightly, "So - what Gems?"

"Just an amethyst and an emerald." He told her, after a further moment or so.

"Huh," she told him. "What do you need them for?"  
He shook his head, "A spell. Just a spell. They're components for a spell."

"What's the spell?" 

"Very interested in it, are we?" Thom told her, a slight edge on his voice. "It's just a spell which helps me…find things that I want to find. Generally a spell to find something that's been lost."

"What have you lost?" She continued to ask these inane questions, fully aware that it was beginning to irk Thom. She wasn't about to let him off the hook just yet, not when so much more fun could be had! 

"Nothing," he replied as he finally broke their look. He moved around the room, tidying some small things away.

"Then why the spell?" 

He shrugged. "I don't need it for myself, but sometimes…I hire myself out sometimes to nobles, help them find things, help them overcome things, help them generally. And so the gems are just there for, you know, in case I need them."

"That's…" she grimaced slightly, "That's really quite…uh…"

"Low?" Thom proffered.

"Well, I didn't want to say anything…"

He grinned, "No, I know it is. But Trebond isn't really all that prosperous of late, dear sister. I need to fund my research and my spells somehow, and these supplements really do help a lot, considering the ease with which I complete them."

"Oh," she added. "Well that's just…great."

Thom just gave her a lax smile, "Now, sister," he continued after a moment, sitting himself down into a chair that was now free from junk, "is there anything else I can do to help you?"

***

She'd continued talking with Thom for another hour or so, generally chatting about their respective lives in both this world and in Alanna's own. Once or twice he'd steered the conversation towards Jon and how her relationship with him was like in her world, which had somewhat confused Alanna.

_"So you're not married to Jon?" he had asked her._

_Frowning, she had replied as simply as she could. "No. Not in the slightest, even."_

_"Huh," came his reply, a somewhat…disbelieving little grunt. "Huh." He repeated._

_"What?" she asked, wondering what Thom was getting at._

_"Oh, nothing." He had said, leaning back in his chair as if attempting to escape from her wrath. "Nothing at all."_

_"No," she pressed, "You meant something by that. What?"_

_"Just that…you know…you don't look like just friends when I see you together."_

_Alanna licked her lips slightly, "Well…"_

_"Well…? Oh dear, that didn't seem a particularly reassuring 'well'." Thom had mused, drawing a grin out of Alanna._

_"No, I don't think it is."_

_"What's the problem?"_

_She had shrugged; she wasn't sure if she wanted to explain this seemingly more and more twisted relationship with her brother. "Just that things have changed."_

_"What things?" He asked, "Your feelings for him? Or your feelings for whomever you have back in your world?"_

_"No, no." she had replied quickly, "I know that I still love George, it's just th-"_

_"George?!" Thom interjected. "_George Cooper_? You're _married_ to George Cooper?" She had nodded, frowning at her brothers' reaction. "Ah…so that's why you wanted to see him yesterday."  
"Yes," she said, "why does that surprise you?"_

_"What? Oh, no – it doesn't." He had shrugged the question off, before leaning in once more, listening attentatively to her. "Not at all. Please, continue." _

_She continued to frown for a moment, something wasn't feeling spot on….but decided that there was nothing more she could do about it. "Oh, well. Alright. I know that I still love George, it's just…" she decided to try a different tack. "Thom, do you believe that one can love more than one person at once?"_

_"Romantic love?" her brother had asked, to which she nodded. "Well, I'm not exactly a poet or anything, so I couldn't give you a flowery answer to this. But if you just want my opinion? I think that yes – one can love more than one person at once." She nodded to herself, maybe he was right. Thom had continued, however. "The heart isn't rational, Alanna. While the mind may want to believe that you can stay devoted, attracted and in love with a single individual, the heart is a fickle creature; always driven by desire and passion. You can be in love with more than one person at once, it's just that your mind will be telling you that you have to ignore the heart, to remain loyal to your 'true' love, if you will."_

_"Huh." She replied, realizing that she was re-using Thom's very words. "Well, uhh…thanks for your opinion."_

_"No problems, my dear."_

She'd soon left his rooms, strolling slowly through the palace back towards the Royal chambers. She hoped that Jon was there; she needed to ask him what she was going to wear to this 'lunch' with the Scanrans, for one. Secondly…was there a secondly? She had thought a lot on what Thom had said, and she realised that to an extent, he was right. It was all a question of heart versus her mind; whether the passionate heart would overrule the rational mind. She definitely desired Jon (in fact she may well go as far to say she _craved_ him), there was no point in denying that. But….could she let this overrule the rational element of her thinking? She had already once before managed to do so, been strong in the face of a roaring passion that began in her heart; and she had _known _that it was the right thing to do. 

So…no. There was nothing 'secondly' to say to Jon. She'd ask him what she would be required to wear, and then pretend to be a Queen for an hour or two. Simple as that.

Of course, things never were _quite_ that simple; something which seemed to be epitomized by the very thing she saw as she made her way towards their rooms. As she had turned the last corner, entered the corridor which contained the doorway to their rooms, she noticed the large wall hanging that hung nearby. The wall hanging which, in this world at least, was symbolic of…well…she wouldn't gloss over it; of Jon's love for her. She supposed, although she knew that supposing was dangerous, that having it hung here outside their doorway was also was a symbol of _her own_ love for Jon. Perhaps…

Yet Jon had had this hanging made in _their _world as well. Granted, it was done before the two of them parted ways, before her heart cooled to him; but…did the point still hold? Did the mere fact that Jon _had wanted_ to – at _whatever_ stage of their lives – create such a lasting symbol of love, love for her, mean anything? He had told her that he loved her – she had dismissed it as a result of the circumstances they were in. But he had told her that he had felt this way for a while, before they'd come into these circumstances. Apparently, evenThayet knew how he felt; though she wasn't sure about that. Thayet had _never_ acted differently towards her, not even a glimmer of jealousy or malcontent.

_Of course, why would she blame you…?_

She grimaced, it wasn't a particularly appealing thought to be having; considering that it may be possible that one of her best friends may be harbouring some rather unfriendly feelings towards her, but she also knew that there really was no point in mulling over it. After all, there was no way she could speak to her while she were stuck here in this world.

So Jon may well be telling the truth there; it was certainly possible. Might he also then be telling the _whole_ truth? Did he 'love' her like he had when they were but children still? She wasn't sure, and there really was only one way to find out – by asking him. 

Unless…perhaps there was another way. A way which would also help her work out her own feelings for him; a way which could potentially bring about major problems for the both of them, but could clear the air with a single, simple act. 

A simple kiss.

***

Such a plan was fraught with problems, and a nagging voice was yelling in her mind that she was making a mistake – but her mind, her _rational_ side, had so far proved to be rather pointless when it came to deciding how Jon felt, or how she herself felt. Perhaps it was time to allow passion loose a little, let it answer some questions for once, rather than create them.

The plan still tumbling through her mind (and all the doubts that went along with it), she threw open the doors to their chambers, desperately hoping that Jon was within them. He was. Moreover, he was also naked to the waist, presumably as he readied himself for this lunch with the Scanran delegation. Hearing the loud noise from the doorway, he turned towards her. As his eyes took her in, she saw a warm smile spread over his face.

Such things were inconsequential, no matter how nice they may feel. She strode towards him purposefully, stopping herself a few feet in front of him. Swallowing the nerves and the worry, pounding them down in fact, she lifted her chin defiantly. "Do you love me?" she asked, simply.

"What?" he replied, obviously caught off guard by her actions.  
"Do you love me?" She reiterated, still hoping against hope that…well…_some_ form of clarity would be delivered upon her. She wasn't sure exactly _how_ she hoped that this would occur, but she just hoped it would. 

Jon let his frown drop away, realizing how serious she was. He turned to her then, letting his eyes stare into her own. "Yes," he told her softly. "I do, and I've never stopped doing so."

She wanted to…she wasn't sure what she wanted. Was this the answer she wanted? Or did she want a _'Gee Alanna, sorry for all that talk earlier – I just realised how much total garbage I was saying!'_? She blinked, and realised that she was letting her mind get involved again. Wasn't this supposed to be passions time? She decided that there was really only one thing to do now, only one thing that she could do to get an answer. She moved over to him swiftly, standing directly in front of him. Looking up into his blue eyes, she almost lost her nerve as she saw the _desire_ Jon had for her almost flowing out of them. Still, she mustered her courage, and whispered the words she had decided upon earlier. "This doesn't mean anything," she told him softly. "Don't take this in _any_ way. I'm sorry if you feel used, but I need to know."

"Know what?" Jon whispered in return, obviously not understand what she was talking about. She didn't let him continue, lifting herself up on tiptoes to throw her arms around his neck and bring her lips onto his. All protest from Jon was cut off by such an action, and she let her heart _free_ itself…

His lips were somewhat rough, something she hadn't noticed last night. Today, of course, she was a little more focused on things, and could notice such minor details. They were rough, yes, but they weren't _hard_. They were…nice was a good word, she supposed. She began to softly stroke the back of his neck, something which she'd wanted to do for a while, and it was probably this more than anything else which brought Jon back to reality. He had been somewhat shocked, she supposed, for a moment, but he made up for it now as he let his strong arms enfold her, crushing her in that oh-so-pleasant fashion against his chest. She groaned slightly under the pressure – or was it a moan? – but forgot about it entirely once Jon had begun to run his hands up and down her sides. 

They broke apart for air, and she immediately dived back in. It felt _so good…_

She decided to deepen the kiss, probing at his lips with her tongue, and he gladly obliged her wish. Their tongues dueled with each other, and Jon brought a hand up to the back of her head. 

Was her thinking any clearer on the matter, then? She wasn't altogether sure – her mind (when she decided to allow it to intrude on this wonderful event) was still torn between the horrific shrieking voice, calling her all sorts of names and reminding her of all the horrible consequences of what would happen because of this, and between the slightly more 'laid back' part which seemed to be pleased that she was feeling the way she was. And 'feeling' she was; she honestly couldn't remember feeling this… _charged_ before. Not that Jon was 'sparking' or anything, just that…just that the way he made her feel, the way she reacted to him was so powerful that it caused her to just…

She couldn't even finish the thought; it was just a feeling of _joy,_ she supposed. A joy at her desires being fulfilled. She knew that things were complicated, and that she – if she listened to the rational part of her mind – would forever regret what she had done, but _it just felt so good…!_

They were still entwined in one another, still breathing each others air, when Jon began to shuffle slightly. At first she let him, content in where she was, before he began to lower the two of them onto the bed. She didn't want to break apart from him, but she knew that…well…_that_ would be going too far. "Wait," she mumbled in between kisses. "Not there." 

"What?" Jon asked, pulling back from her. 

"Not the bed," she replied. "Not _that_."

"Oh." He nodded, "Alright." She bit her lip softly, did she want to stop this yet…? Maybe the moment had…diffused? She smiled softly, _follow your heart. Follow what passion dictates_ was her mantra of the moment, after all – she'd just do what she _wanted_ to do. Jon had noticed her smiling, and responded in kind. He looked _so_ beautiful, she realised; just standing there with tousled hair. Tightening her grip, she pulled his head back down to hers, and gave herself over once more to the passion of the moment…

Some time later, she wasn't particularly sure of the details, the two of them broke apart. Jon extricated his hand from under her shirt, and she untangled her hands from his hair. _Wow._ She stood opposite him, and raised a finger to her – by now, particularly swollen – lips, touching them softly as she looked across at Jon. 

He ran a hand through his hair, somewhat nervously. "So, uh…" he began, the words stumbling somewhat. "Do you…know…now?"

"What?" she asked, still somewhat out of it all. She couldn't get over just how intense that had all felt, the way her body reacted to his. Had it been like that when they were together all those years ago? She couldn't remember.

"Did you find anything out?" Jon repeated, "Do you now know?"

Oh, right. "I'm not sure." She told him, truthfully. She supposed that this sort of thing was where the intellect was supposed to come in, the rational part of her brain was supposed to…interpret…what the heart was telling her. Such a thing could take a while, she supposed. "All I know at the moment," she said, "Is that…that was one of the most intense things I have ever experienced."

He smiled at that – as well he should, she supposed. "Really?" he asked, like a small child whose just been told that they'll be getting a special gift for Mid-winter.

Nodding, she lowered her gaze slightly. "I'm still not sure what that-"

"What that entails?" Jon proffered. "No, I completely understand that. I really do."

Good. She didn't want to reiterate the fact that the kiss didn't _necessarily_ mean anything. Saying that now, however…was it really the truth? She'd never really felt anything like that – the physical relationship with George was intense, and it was _exciting_, but it was _nothing_ at all like this. This was something completely different, something more…

But…she needed to think more on it. She nodded to herself; "All right," she stated after a moment, a wide smile affixed to her face, "Now. Moving on to other things – this lunch. What am I supposed to look like?"


	6. Paying the price for the actions of othe...

A/N – Blah. Shorter chapter than the last one, I think. Still so much more of a joy to whip out a short 7,000 word chapter than the huge monstrosities that have become _Divergence_ chapters ^_^ Oh well, at least I'm closer to finishing that one than this one…*cries softly* -_^

Anyway. Just an Authors Note to thank people for their wonderful reviews and to prompt for more…! MORE! Mwahahah! (And so forth).

Incidentally – since someone asked…No, 'Passionation' is not a word. It is a (probably too) subtle combination of Fascination and Passion, to kind of 'wrap up' the themes of what the last chapter was about. I actually try and go for insightful chapter titles, even if sometimes I end up too bored to actually care by the time I have to put them up on FF.net…! But I do attempt to put something on which says **something** about the chapter in question, anyway. But no – not a word. 

I'm quite proud of this chapter, if only because it moves the plot forward quite a ways. Oh yes – and I decided that indeed, my way of writing George is not only hard work, but it's also annoying to read. So from now on, none of my George dialogue will be 'George-ified' to such a ridiculous extent as it was previously. I may continue doing it in _Divergence_, since I've only got about 2 chapters to go, but not in _DOABL_…

Enjoy!

***

The answer was, of course, 'like a Queen'. The problem was that she, nor Jon, had any idea of what The Queen – Alanna-as-Queen – was like. Would she wear a dress, or not? Would she follow the 'normal' rules for decorum, or not? They just didn't know, and it would be best for them not to arouse suspicion, particularly with the rumours of threats to their lives. It would not, after all, be the greatest course of action for them to give any potential assassins the idea that the two of them were acting very much unlike what they should be; to give these assassins any reason to believe that their opportunity had arrived early.

They weren't worried about them, not really – or at least Alanna wasn't, but there was no point in tempting fate unless an immediate payoff could be seen, as far as she was concerned. Taking a risk for the sake of taking a risk was not something she enjoyed. Besides, she wouldn't want to make things more difficult for 'this' Alanna once they left this world…

Which raised an interesting question; _would_ this Alanna return here? For that matter, where had they gone? Were they – this worlds Alanna and Jon, in her own world? Would this Alanna have awoken next to George?

_George…_

_Her George._

She winced at that thought; George was hers, or at least he _had been_ hers. He probably still was, but she didn't presume to know that while she was here. She could always tell when she was looking into his eyes though – those beautiful hazel eyes. She was probably his too, she still _felt_ like his – well, she _thought_ she still felt like his. But what about Jon? She sort of _wanted_ to be his, too, and for him to be hers.

"Alanna?" Jon's voice carried from the adjoining chamber; he'd (thankfully, for her sanity) offered to change into his own 'clothing of state', as he liked to call them, out of sight. "Are you decent?"

She smiled; a fairly familiar phrase that, though perhaps the circumstances now were slightly different – where once it was used to protect her discovery by other's apart from the two of them, now it was being used to protect _themselves_ from any potential…sticky situations. "Yes, my knight master." She replied, taking a final look around the room to make sure that she hadn't forgotten anything.

Jon came out of the chamber, chuckling as he went before shutting the heavy wooden door behind him. He turned to her, and he simply…stopped; eyes focused on her. A small smile touched his features, and she blushed slightly. A moment passed – a moment which felt a lot longer then it actually was, before Jon simply nodded at her.

"You don't look half bad yourself," she replied with a tilt of the head. Most _certainly_ he did not, clad in fairly tight breeches and white shirt as he was. He truly _did_ look like a King now, something which she never really understood. He seemed to be able to slide in and out of the 'mask' with ease; he could look Kingly and Royal one moment, and just Jon the next. Something which she could never hope to achieve, it appeared. 

They had eventually decided that it would be better to under-dress than to go over the top with what she was to wear. After all, it was just a lunch they were going to; to turn up as if she were at a ball or something similar would probably cause more questions than if she turned up in something a little less formal than would have been considered 'appropriate'. After a fairly extensive look through her – this Alanna's – wardrobe, they'd found something which would work well. Or at least, that they _hoped_ would work well. Thankfully, it wasn't a dress, something which Alanna felt would have been far too formal for a mere lunch anyway – something she felt that this Alanna would (hopefully!) still consider. "No matter which world I'm in," she had told Jon half-jokingly, "I do hope that I'm still more at ease in breeches and shirts than skirts and blouses."

They _had_ chosen a blouse, however, though it was not terribly flashy. Flashy being a relative term; when Jon had pulled out the silken green blouse, she had considered it _very much_ over the top, though Jon had assured her that it wasn't. Once she had tried it on, however, she had given in – silk, so she had discovered, felt very nice when worn all the time.

"Why thank you, Squire." He replied, smile becoming particularly warm. "Though I don't think anyone will notice while you're standing beside me."

She rolled her eyes, "Oh please. I'm in breeches and a blouse, Jon – I'm not exactly made up to look nice here."

Jon shrugged his shoulders slightly, "Doesn't mean you're not." He told her softly, before moving over to her. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he leant into her, "You look beautiful, Alanna. Although I've always thought you were."

"Even when I was attempting to look like a boy?" she asked, jokingly. It was strange how the kiss (kisses?) they had shared a scant few minutes beforehand had simply dissolved all the tension between them – she had rarely felt quite at ease as she did now, standing as close to him as she was. "Did you find me beautiful then?"

"Well…" Jon seemed to be searching for an answer which wouldn't get him into trouble, and Alanna laughed. "Alright, no I didn't. Not really." She raised an eyebrow at him. "Uhh…well, I didn't until a certain point, anyway."

That surprised her; "Really?" she asked, "When was that? And did you find me…attractive after that?"

He tilted his head to the side, thinking. "I did. Or at least, I think that there was a single moment, anyway. Do you remember the Drell Valley?" He asked as he brought his head down to face her once more. She nodded, and he continued. "I think it was around then; early on during the campaign anyway."

"Which part?" 

"I'm not sure, it was so long ago now." He replied, sadly. His arms slid down, and he gently wrapped her with them until she was leaning (perhaps pressed would be a better term, not that she was necessarily complaining) up against his chest. After a brief pause, he began again – she could _feel_ his words from her current position, an incredibly comforting feeling. "But I think it had something to do with a horse."

At that she frowned, "What?" 

He chuckled slightly, sending reverberations through his chest and into her. "I just remember you sitting in front of me, or something. We were very close, and you had your back to me." Shrugging, his grip loosened on her. She snuggled back into his grasp instinctively, "I can just remember…_feeling_ you, rather than seeing you. And…I don't know." Suddenly, he chuckled slightly. "I suppose that you felt female, I guess. Something which I may not have really realised before. After that I saw you differently. I saw you not as a scrawny boy who was more than he may have appeared, but as a girl who was going through a hell of a lot. More than I was, at any rate."

"That's not true," she told him when he finished, "You were the Prince, Jon. And your mother was ill – you were under a lot of pressure too."

"Maybe, but at least I wasn't carrying around such a huge secret." He pulled away from her then, holding her at arms length while looking down into her face seriously. "I couldn't have done what you did, I don't know anyone else who could have. I mean, the mental strength and stamina alone you possessed is something which…" he shook his head, as if he didn't believe it himself. "You have no idea how much I was – and still am! - in awe of what you accomplish. Every time a report comes in detailing something you've done to save lives, or helping to rebuild a community or whatever, my respect – my _adoration_ of you simply grows."

Praise was something she had _never_ dealt well with, "Jon, I didn't do all that much, really. I just managed to scrape by every day, you have no idea how close I came to giving up."

"But you didn't! You didn't give up, and you 'just scraped by every day' for _eight years_, Alanna! You passed the Ordeal where many strong men have failed, you believed in your own convictions about Roger when no-one else would support you!" _Except, _she mentally interjected, _for George…_"Alanna, you are a hero, that's all that can be said about it; a true champion. And moreover, you're _my_ hero."

Well. That surely sent a bit of a shock to her brain. He'd thought about this a lot, it appeared – about _her_ a lot. Regardless, it was most certainly nice, even if she didn't particularly agree with all the sentiments involved. A warm glow spread through her, as if Jon's words had sparked a fire within her, and a smile twitched on her face. "Uhh," she managed to stammer out, "I don't…I don't really know how to respond to that." She replied, truthfully. How _could_ one reply to that? Say 'thank you very much'? 

As it turned out, however, Jon didn't seem to be _expecting_ any response; her stuttering was soon cut off by his lips pressing down onto hers softly. It wasn't as passionate as the kisses they'd shared earlier, but it did seem to be saying so much more; tender as it was, it truly did indicate the depths of his feelings for her. She responded in kind, deepening the kiss as she allowed him to wrap her into his embrace. _Hold me. Love me…_

A few seconds later they broke apart, and with a shared glance, made their way towards the door. 

***

The Scanran lunch hadn't been quite as troublesome as she had expected, thankfully. Perhaps it was just the joyful mood she was in, but the Scanrans truly did appear to be quite well versed in decorum – in other words, they hadn't insulted her once. Quite a change from the few Scanran 'diplomats' she had met during her own (admittedly brief) stays in Court. She was loathe to use the term 'savage', but…

Smiling, Alanna realised that she couldn't really finish that thought. Scanran's were savages, a lot of the time. Their leaders were, anyway. So why were these diplomats so well behaved? She didn't really have any clue; maybe it would be something to ask Jon later. At the moment, however, she had another question on her mind. More specifically, she wanted to ask Thom about whether he knew something about the spell they had been caught in; whether this Alanna and Jon had traded places with them, or the like. She wasn't necessarily sure she wanted George to be exposed to this other Alanna – if only because of certain…questions which could well arise when they returned home. 

She bit her lip as she realised just where that thought was taking her; she never wanted George to find out what had happened here, nothing detailed, anyway. Actually – just nothing about how she had reacted to Jon here. _'They never need to find out'_, Jon had told her the other day, and he was right…to a degree. They didn't _need_ to find out, and indeed she wondered whether it would be best for all involved if they never did find out. Such a scenario, however, relied upon the fact that when they returned home, Alanna would stop feeling these thoughts about Jon, would stop being so attracted and drawn to him. If such a thing happened, then she'd once more be totally devoted to George, and he never needed to know that she had been tempted for a while…

The question was, of course, was this attraction to Jon simply something which existed here? She supposed that the answer to that question was something that would be discovered in due time – all she could do now is work towards getting back to her world. _And how,_ a little voice in her mind asked, _does Jon fit into all of this?_

Well…that's what she wasn't necessarily sure of at the moment. _Devotion in opposition to enjoyment? Passion over reason?_ She could live with what she had done, she was sure of that at least. And she most certainly did enjoy what she and Jon had been engaging in…

_Just because he may never know does not mean that he's not a victim in this…_

"Alanna!"  
A call from behind her cut through her thoughts, and she spun around smoothly to see Gary trotting down the corridor towards her. She stopped, and dipped her head in greeting. "Gary."

"I take it the lunch is over?" He asked once he had caught up beside her. She started to walk off again, heading towards the East wing and Thom's rooms, and nodded in response to his question. "Good, good. How do you think it went?"

Alanna internally winced; what did Gary want to hear? Was she supposed to make a really astute political answer here, or was 'the food was nice' adequate? She made a decision, turning to her friend with a wide smile on her face. "Well Gary, if I was to make any such comment on the lunch, I would say that the Scanran's were far more diplomatic than I had expected them to be." There. That was safe, wasn't it?

It appeared so, as Gary nodded violently. "I know! It's quite amazing, isn't it? Seeing the difference between them now and them all of only three years ago. It's truly astonishing to see what they've managed to do over there."

She decided that it probably wouldn't have been particularly smart to ask exactly what had happened to Scanra, if only because Gary would inevitably launch into a far-too-long telling of recent political events. Besides, she should probably be expected to have known this. Another topic seemed the best option at the moment; "So Gary," she quietly asked him as they walked, "these…threats…that we've been told about. To us, me and Jon I mean – any news on them?"

The Prime Minister winced, and thought for a moment. "Not really," he eventually responded. "Just what you've probably been told before. We still can't track where they're coming from- even Thom can't manage to find out who is sending them!" he shook his head in disbelief. "But we've found one thing out for certain, at least."

"What's that?"

"They originate within Corus." Gary said, solemnly. "Someone within Corus wants the two of you dead."

***

The doorway to Thom's room was not on fire today, which she supposed was a good sign. Even if it was an illusion, it had still unnerved her. Was he _that _worried that someone would enter unannounced?

No point in tempting fate, she thought as she knocked on his door. "Thom? You in there?" she called out. A grunt was her reply, and the door swung open of its own accord, greatly surprising Alanna. All but stumbling in, her lack of balance prompting a laugh from her brother, she sank down into a nearby chair.

"I know walking can sometimes be difficult, Alanna," Thom mused condescendingly, "but if you follow the basics – you know, one leg after another, you can't go far wrong."

She shot her brother a most un-loving glare. "Very funny, Thom. Maybe you should have been a Court Jester instead of an all-powerful Sorcerer."

"I would have been good at that," he replied, seemingly more engrossed in the papers on his desk than Alanna's comments, "Everyone always laughs at my jokes, don't they?"

"Maybe they're laughing _at_ them." Alanna mumbled under her breath.

"I heard that."

She rolled her eyes, "Good for you."

Thom turned around to face her then, a small smile tugging at his lips, "Look, do you want me to turn you into a newt? Because that's what is going to happen if you continue with these poor come backs." He threw up his hands, "I mean, you're not even trying, are you?"

"Can you do that?" she asked, ignoring the last comment. "The newt thing, I mean."

Thom nodded, "Oh yes. With ease. Would you like to test it out?" he added as a wild grin came over his face.

"Err….no." she replied, "Though I must say, that's….that's quite an effective threat, actually."

"Thank you, I thought so." Thom stated simply, turning back to his papers. "Now is there a reason you came to see me, or did you just feel like sniping at your brother?"

:"Oh, right." She said stupidly, "Well, there was really only one thing I wanted to ask you. And it kind of relates to…well…how we got here. Me and Jon."

"Alright then. I'm not sure if I'll be able to help, but ask away."

She nodded, "Thanks. Anyway, what I'm wondering really relates to what happens – or perhaps has happened, I don't know – in _our_ world." Frowning, she realised just how difficult it was to explain her thoughts on the matter. "Uh, that is to say – have we just swapped over completely? Did this worlds Alanna wake up in my bed while I woke up in hers?"

It seemed that Thom too might be somewhat confused by her question, "You mean…has anything been changed in your world?"

"No," she replied quickly, before thinking it over a little more thoroughly, "Well, yes. In a way, I suppose. I want to know what happened to the other Alanna. This worlds' Alanna."

Thom sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. "To be honest?" he told her after a minute or two of – what she hoped was intense thinking, "I have no idea. I don't know what Spell brought you here, so I can't really give you any idea of what happened to the other Alanna, or even of yourself."

"Well, can you take a guess?" She asked quietly, just wanting an inkling. Anything! "Have you got _any_ idea of what _may_ have happened? Anything at all?"

He turned to her then, a questioning look on his face. "I don't- No. I honestly don't have any idea – most transportation spells work by moving one object from one place to another. I'm not sure what happened here, how it seems that you've _replaced_ another object. I just don't know." He raised his hands, warding off any potential aggression on her part. Alanna sighed in defeat, dismay flowing through her as she let her head drop. "Why do you want to know?"

She looked up at Thom's question, wondering if she should tell him. In the end she decided that it couldn't really do any harm – besides, he probably knew a little of what was going through her mind already, based on the conversation the two of them had yesterday. "I just…" she began, before biting her lip. _By Mithros this is uncomfortable!_ "I just wanted to know what could potentially have happened to m-my family." 

"What do you-? Oh, do you mean in relation to…to George?" he replied, seemingly understanding her dismay. She nodded softly, and Thom sucked in his breath. "Well, as I said, I honestly don't have a solid idea of what would have happened. However, based on what happened to you…"

"Yes?" she prompted after he trailed off, "What?"

"I'd imagine that something similar happened to her." She didn't quite understand what he was getting at with that, and her face seemed to telegraph this fact quite well. "Look," Thom continued, "I think she probably 'took your place' just as you took hers."

"Oh."

"Yes, oh." He echoed her sentiment, "But – at the end of the day, that'd just be a guess. I don't know really what happened to _either_ one of you."

She nodded, shock still playing through her mind; this wasn't the best news she could have heard. Still, perhaps she should take hope from the fact that Thom didn't know precisely what had happened to her, perhaps they _hadn't_ just swapped over. "Well," she said simply to her brother, "thanks for the information, anyway."

"A pleasure," he told her, "And I would say 'anytime', but I'm not entirely sure on that one."

Frowning at that, Alanna realised that – well, to be frank, she'd never _really_ seen Thom being busy. He was always just…reading, "I thought you were fast at reading?" 

"Hmm? Oh, I am. There's just a lot of stuff that needs to be read." He picked up a page off the desk, "Lots of spells that need researching."

"What for?"

He shrugged at that, "Various things. Bettering the lot of the populace, that sort of thing."

_A worthy aim_, "Oh. Right."

"A lot of detective work lately," he continued over her, "Lots of hunting down people."

"Like those who send those threats about, uh, the King and Queen?"

He nodded, "Yes, those in particular I've been researching a lot."

"Gary told me- uhh…" she trailed off. Thom probably wouldn't like her rubbing his face in the fact that he hadn't managed to work out where they were coming from. Best to leave off it for now. "Uh, do you have them here?" she asked, trying to change the subject.

Thom frowned slightly, "Yes, they're just there." He pointed to a pile of papers on his desk, "Why do you ask?"

"Can I see them?"

The frown on Thom's face deepened, "I suppose so. I don't quite know why you'd want to, but…sure, go ahead."

With a smile of thanks, she made her way over to the pile of papers, and began to rifle through them. Eventually, she found a bound stack of small white squares, each with neat writing all over them. She held them up to Thom, and he nodded – so these were the threats. She began to unravel the string binding them together so that she could have a closer look at them.

"How'd the meeting with Cooper go the other day?" Thom asked suddenly, eyes down at the page in front of him. "I meant to ask the other day, but I forgot at the time."

She shrugged, her mind only half on the answer as she sought to free the papers. "Not well, I suppose would be the best answer."

"How so?"

"He hates me." She answered simply, letting the pain slowly flood into her. It wasn't quite as raw as it had been – she'd come to realise that her George and this George were most certainly _not_ the same man, but it still hurt. A tear threatened to force its way out of her, but she held it in with all her strength; she was _not_ going to fall apart on this, from the words of someone who she really didn't know. 

Thom sighed in sympathy, "Did he tell you why?"

"No," she responded, "he would barely talk to me." She closed her eyes, letting the small bundle fall to her side for a moment. _Compose yourself!_ "I just- I don't understand what could have happened to what we had. I mean, I understand that things would have been strained because of my…choice, but this-!"

"This is the result of a bitter man," Thom replied softly, "You and I discussed this often in this world. George just couldn't handle rejection, that's all. You and Jon did nothing to incite him, he just became a very sour individual. It's not your fault, it was never any fault of yours."

She laughed at that, "I don't know if I believe that," she whispered sadly, "But I suppose you know what occurred here better than I do. It just- It's just hard to believe, really. That the man I…that I love could change so much."

"But hasn't everything else changed too?" Thom pointed out, and she looked over towards him. He'd stopped his work now, and was turned around in his chair to face her. "I mean, isn't it somewhat improbable to think that Cooper couldn't have changed as well?"

She nodded, he was right of course. But still! George _had_ changed so much due to this one decision – could he change like that in her world? She had never thought so; but the situation here was causing her to re-examine that fact. Something Thom had said caught in her awareness, and she frowned. "Why do you call him that?" She asked, "Why Cooper?"

Thom grunted, and turned back to his work. "George Cooper and I," he replied plainly, "do not get along. We never really have, and I don't suppose that we ever really shall."

"Oh," she hadn't expected that at all – in fact, she had always considered that Thom and George would have gotten along quite well. "Why not? I mean, is there any one reason for it?"__

"No, not really. I just-" he winced, or at least she thought he did. It was difficult to tell from where she was currently standing, "He never really left you alone, Alanna. Not even when you asked him too; he seemed to just hang around and cause trouble between the two of us and between Jon and yourself. He just never grasped the concept that he was different than us."

She frowned at that "What do you mean?"

"Just that we were all part of the Crown by then, we were Royalty. And alright, admittedly that didn't necessarily change who we were or the friends we have. Well, that's what you would always claim anyway – but the truth of the matter was that it _did_. We all changed because of it, _including_ George. He would still treat you as if you were a Squire, ask you to sneak out to the Dancing Dove at nights to see him and so forth. He didn't understand that you just _couldn't_ because of who you were. Then when you told him that you couldn't, he'd get angry with you and – from what you told me, sometimes physical."

"P-physical?" she echoed softly – she couldn't believe that George would get violent, she _wouldn't_ believe it!

Thom nodded softly, "Nothing excessive I don't think, probably because he knew that you were more dangerous than he was, but you – she – showed me some bruises that George caused once or twice. It caused quite a fuss between Jon and him, I can tell you that."

_No! George would never do that…! But do you _know_ this George like you know your own?_

"Anyway," Thom continued, shaking her out of her internal argument, "He just generally caused trouble. It was better for everyone concerned when you put your foot down a few years ago and forbid him to ever see you again."

Alanna was shocked by this conversation, that was really the only way she could put it. The insight into what had happened to George here, and more importantly how he had reacted to it, shook her to the core. If it could happen to this George, who as far as she knew was just like her George until she made her decision when she was with the Bazhir, then could it happen to her own? She didn't know, and she wasn't sure if she wanted to find out. "Oh, well…thanks for the information." She muttered, still not totally centred after what she had just heard, "Thanks for the information Thom. I'm just- I think I'm just going to…um…go now." She pointed to the door, hoping that Thom would understand.

He nodded, and without turning around waved at her. "Glad to be of service," he said to her simply. "Don't think to much on what I told you, please. I'm sure the George in your world is nothing like this one. But you _should_ be aware of what I told you if you try and contact this George again."

She returned his nod, and after forcing a smile onto her face, strode out the door.

***

It was only after she'd all but reached her and Jon's rooms that she realised that she'd forgotten to return the letters that she'd taken from Thom. The threats that had been sent to them. Thinking on it for a moment, she decided that she'd already come too far to return them to her brother now (besides, she hadn't yet read them), and secondly that it would not be the best idea to read them while she was standing in the centre of a corridor. Better by far to reach her rooms before attempting to finish unraveling the pages and reading their contents.

So she made her way back into the large Royal chambers, passing by the large wall hanging as she did so. Perhaps for the first time since arriving here, the hanging made her think of the _present_ rather than the past. What Thom had said at the end was true – that her George may well have no connection to this George, but she couldn't be certain. Her devotion had been shaken, she knew that – in fact she'd _felt_ that on more than one occasion; the embraces she had shared with Jon not only felt right in many ways, but they also felt _more_ right than such things had ever felt when she and George had been involved in them. Her questioning of her absent husband now seemed only the icing on the cake, so to speak – how could George have acted as Thom had described here? She _did_ know that things up until the point where she had accepted Jon's proposal in the desert were the same, meaning that George had this…vileness within him even in her world. Had he lost it over time? She couldn't say no…

_Nor could you possibly know_, the rational voice whispered. She supposed it was right; passing judgment on George when he wasn't even around was something she would have to avoid. When she returned she could…talk with him about things, but she shouldn't make such judgments now.

As she opened the door to her chambers, she noticed with some annoyance that the lamps had all been extinguished – the room was, in the late-afternoon light, somewhat dark and shadowed. She closed the door behind her, before setting down the letters and beginning a search for something to relight them with. However, what she found was quite different.

When she made her way into the other large chamber, a voice spoke up from the shadows behind her – from just beside the entrance to the room. "Alanna," it whispered, and she spun around on the spot ready to kick the interloper in the jaw. She couldn't tell who it was in the gloom, but she _did_ know that anyone who snuck into the Royal bedchambers was someone who simply _had_ to be watched and watched carefully.

"Who are you?" she stated loud and plain, "Show yourself."

"Just calm down!" the - somewhat familiar - voice whispered harshly, "Don't talk quite so loud!" 

"And why shouldn't it? After all, I'm not the one in someone else's bedchamber."

"Y'were the other night," the voice bit back, "At least I had the decency to whisper to you."

Ah, so _that's_ who it was. "George?" she questioned, hoping to validate her theory. Indeed she was right, as George moved out of the shadow and into the low light. To be honest, she found herself somewhat frightened by his appearance – the horrible patch was still there, and his scarred face seemed to be even harder in this light. Thom's words fresh in her mind, she took a step back without thinking. A soft snort came from the man in front of her, "Aye, it's you then. Disgusted by the sight of me, that's Alanna."

Biting her lip, Alanna didn't reply to that. Instead, she stood where she was – purposefully not taking another step back, nor a step forwards. "Why are you here?" she asked of him instead. 

The question seemed to throw George for a moment, as if he didn't quite know himself. As it turned out, that was probably an accurate guess. "I-I'm not sure," he replied honestly after a beat, "I just-" he sighed loudly, letting his shoulders sag as he closed his good eye.

"What?"

"You said something to me the other night. Something which made me…I don't know, I guess you could say curious."

"What was it that got you curious?" She prompted, although she thought she already knew the answer.

"You said you loved me," George replied, "I just- It stuck with me."  
"As I recall, you told me that I was lying, and that I should get out." She shot back, still somewhat pained by both what he had said then and what she had since learned. "Were you curious to find out what effect that had on me?"

"No, I-!…I'm sorry for that, I shouldn't have said it, and I apologise for it." He looked her square in the face then, "But there was also another thing. You said you weren't the Alanna that I knew."

She nodded, "That I did."

"Was it true?"

"Of course it was true!" she replied harshly, "Why would I have lied about something like that? Why would _anyone_ have lied about something like that?"

"I don't know! I just found it somewhat hard to take in!" he threw up his hands, "It's not everyday that someone you have known for decades suddenly tells you that they're not the person you thought they were!"

Alanna recently had grown to know that particular feeling – be it Jon or George, the concept of hidden depths, hidden thoughts to people's minds was something that she'd have to think over carefully. Well, possibly – rational thought had often been a problem for her, something which raised more questions than it answered. "Well it's not everyday that something like this happens to _me_! I don't even know what happened to me! _Thom_ doesn't even know what happened to me!"

George's eye seemed to light up at that last comment, but instead of picking up on it he instead simply shook his head, "Well you're certainly as aggressive as Alanna is – if you are a different person, then you're certainly very similar."

"_I'm_ aggressive?" she queried his comment, "From what I've heard, you're a particularly aggressive person here, so don't go around accusing _me_ of being aggressive or anything!" The _nerve_ of him! He didn't even know her, not who she really was!

"From what you've heard?" George repeated, "What does that mean? Who's been telling you things about me?"

She shook her head; he probably wanted to know who'd told her the truth about him, "My brother told me the truth about you," she replied, "About how different you are from the George I know. From the George I _truly_ love." She wasn't quite sure why she was being so hostile to him; Thom's words had certainly triggered something within her, however. Maybe it was that this person, the face of the person she had loved so much over the past decades was being worn by this…this…_cretin_. "He told me _everything_."

He just laughed softly and moved past her, sitting down on the large bed in the bedchamber. She narrowed her eyes at him as he did so, but he ignored her. "Thom," he repeated softly as the revelation sank in, "the lovable Master Sorcerer strikes again, has he?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" 

George looked up at her then, a serious expression on his face. He slowly raised himself to his feet, and just as slowly moved towards her. Looking her square in the eye, he seemed to be debating whether or not to reveal something to her. "Alanna," he whispered eventually, "I'm going to tell you something, and I hope with all my heart that you believe what I say. I won't lie to you – I've told the same thing to the Alanna from this world, and she didn't believe me on it. Something which I fear may someday cost her her life, as well as other's close to her." He licked his lips nervously, "You told me you love me. Based on what you told me, I gather that you don't really – that you love the George from your own world. You have no idea what learning that fact has done to me, the mix of joy and despair at learning it. I beg of you, on the honour of this George that you _do_ love, please believe me in what I say."

"What is it?" she prompted after he had finished his pleading. It had shaken her, she would admit that – this George obviously thought it important. Though was that important? If what Thom had said were true…

"I don't know how else to say this," George continued, "So I'll just lay it out there. I am not the one you have to be wary of. Thom is."

She didn't know what else to do – so she laughed softly. "You're kidding." She finally managed to stammer out after she regained her composure. "You have _got_ to be kidding me, because I know you can't be serious on this."

"I am." He replied simply, "Deadly serious."

"Right," she said with a heavily sarcastic tone, "Right! Thom's the one I've got to look out for and be careful of. It's him who's been threatening my life as of late, is it? Because I knew from the first moment that they were brought up – _by Thom himself_ - that Thom was the one sending those letters to me, to me and Jon." She pointed to the stack of threatening letters which she'd lain on the bed. "Damn my brother! He always was too good at forgery for his own good."

"Alanna, please!" 

"No!" She retorted, "You don't get to '_Alanna, please'_ me! Not when you make up such ridiculous claims and attempt to make me believe them."

George's lip twitched for a moment; she wasn't sure entirely what that was supposed to indicate, but she supposed it wasn't good. She took a step back from him anyway, reflexively, and shook her head. Grinding his teeth, George continued to stare at her. "Which letters?" He finally asked.

She pointed behind him to the bundle, "The death threats that me and Jon have been receiving. The one's my brother – the one who so _obviously_ I need to be wary of – can't work out who is sending."

Picking them up, George took a closer look at them. "You're right," he told her after a pause, "Thom didn't write these-"

"Thank you."

"-I did."

Eyes bulging, Alanna wondered whether her ears had suddenly become very, very confused. "I'm sorry? Did you just say that _you_ are the one who wrote these letters?" she asked, and George nodded. A large smile settled across her face, "Right! So in fact – despite the simple truth that you appear to be _threatening_ myself and Jon and Thom has been nothing but helpful since we've come into contact with him – despite all that! I'm supposed to be wary of him instead of you. Now, I may be alone in this, so please correct me if I'm wrong, but that really isn't making a whole lot of sense to me."

"I know how it looks-" 

"I _really_ don't think you do," she replied, scathing. 

"Alanna,"

Overriding his words, she laid out what she wanted from him. "I also _really_ think that it would be best if you left now." 

"Alanna, look-" he implored of her again, his voice hardening.

But she would have none of it. "No!" she shouted, "You're not going to sway me on this – I will _not_ allow you to say these ridiculous claims about my brother while it's obviously _you_ who I have to worry about! Now if you won't leave of your own accord now, then I can get some Guards who would _force_ you to go!" She stepped in close to him then, raising a finger to jab into his chest. "How _dare_ you make such claims! How _dare_ you let your bitterness interfere with me and my family!" She hadn't thought on it until she said it – but to her surprise, she found that she meant it…to an extent, anyway. She loved her family back home, and she desperately wanted to return to them – but Jon and Thom here were like another family, a second family which she had come to rely upon. Jon in particular...

Her thoughts, however, distracted her from reality – something which was brought home by the ease with which George grabbed her. Taking her wrists in his own, he stood over her solidly. "Would you kindly shut up for a moment?" He whispered to her harshly, not waiting for any reply before continuing, "I honestly don't care what you think of me. I've gotten beyond that by now – I know that the woman I love has loathed me for years, and I can live with it. I can't accept it, because I don't believe that she's thinking for herself, but I can live with it. What I _do_ care about, however, is saving that woman's life, and that is what I am doing here."

"Let go of me." She warned him in a low tone, "If you don't-"

"I thought I asked you to shut up," George replied in answer, before pushing her backwards onto the bed. As she landed heavily (though not painfully – the bed was too well made for that), the bundle of letters bounced beside her. George pointed to them, and she turned her head to look at them. "Have you read them?" he asked her. 

"No." she replied, "I haven't. I don't particularly want to read a letter in which you threaten the lives of myself and Jon. I brought them here _planning_ to read them, but I had hoped to learn who was behind them – now that I know who it was, I don't see any point to it."

Shaking his head, George snorted at her. "Who said anything about me threatening you? If you'd actually _read_ the damn things before accusing me of such actions, then maybe you wouldn't have made such ridiculous claims of your own."

She glared at him then, if for no other reason than the tone of his voice. He was right, in a way – she shouldn't have just assumed as to what their contents were. But why would Gary and Thom have lied to her? Still, best to rely upon her own eyes. "I'll read them now." She stated solidly.

He nodded his head in…well, he probably thought it was _permission_. This George, whatever his 'crimes' or lack thereof, was a lot more prickly than her own, at any rate. Glaring at him once more as she did so, she purposefully took her time in removing the bindings from the stack. Once they were removed, she picked one at random, shifting a little where she lay so that the light would better allow her to read the parchment. 

_'The King and Queen should not leave the palace during the Week of Remembrance. Their lives may be placed in peril if they do.'_

Raising an eyebrow, Alanna picked up another. The sentiment was almost exactly the same; that the King and Queen could find themselves in terrible danger by the end of the Week of Remembrance. Eventually, after glancing through a handful of the notes and discovering that they all had similar thoughts behind them and were written in similar ways, she looked up at George. 

"Well?" he replied, a small smile gracing his lips. "Anything you wish to say to me?"

He wanted her to _apologise_?! Was he insane? "I am _not_ going to apologise to you," she stated simply, "Quite frankly, I have to say that these notes are actually very ambiguous in their meaning."

"Oh come on!" George all but shouted, "You're not seriously going to hold me on the 'they're death threats' idea?"

She ground her teeth, "Granted. I may have made a slight…misjudgment on that."

"Slight? Aye, " he rolled his eyes at her, "What made you think that anyway? Who told you that they were death threats?"

"Gary," she told him quickly, almost _too_ quickly in a sense, since he tilted his head and looked at her with a questioning gaze. "And Thom." She added, reluctantly.

"Ahh, Thom. Always very quick to misjudge anything I say."

Narrowing her eyes, Alanna decided that it was high time to put a stop to this. "I'm not going to believe what you say about him," she told George plainly. "I may have misjudged the threats, but I still will _not_ believe that Thom is 'out to get me' or any other such nonsense."

"I don't know what he wants with you," George replied, seemingly ignoring what she had said, "But I do know that he is not looking out for your best interests. I know as well that he is someone that you should be paying more attention to than you are now, someone who knows more than he is letting on."

"What do you mean?" she replied. 

"Would I be off in suggesting that the night you arrived here in Corus – well, this Corus anyway, was all of 2 nights ago?"

She blinked. She'd never told him when she and Jon had arrived here. He could have worked it out, she supposed, but…"How did you know that?" she asked instead. It would be far easier to ask him plainly, after all. He may well be lying, but…she could work that out later. 

"I have a good friend named Arram," George replied quietly, "He's a Carthaki refugee who arrived here years ago. Oh, and he's a powerful sorcerer as well."

"And?"

"And two nights ago, Arram told me that he had felt a _huge_ flux of magical energy emanating from the palace." He said to her simply, "I would imagine that Thom is the only person here who has that sort of power."

_So?! That doesn't prove anything! He could have been doing any number of different experiments!_

George, not being privy to her innermost thoughts, continued, "I would imagine that your brother has more to do with your arrival here than he may have let on."


	7. Open your eyes

A/N – Hello…!

Yes, I'm back from a long, _long_ holiday. Which did greatly rock, however, so…uh…yay! ^_^

But back with a new chapter for this, which is both my longest and – I feel – my best to date. So that's good, right? Alright, so it's bad that it took quite as long as it did to get it up…but hey, at least it's finally here. Better late than never, right? *laughs nervously*

Heh. Anyway, for those of you who read _Divergence_ as well, don't worry. Instead of my 'normal' routine of doing two chapters of _Dreaming_ for every one of _Divergence,_ I'm going to do the next chapter of that as soon as I can, since I just want to get it out of the way as quickly as possible. Not that I'm looking forward to finishing it – as I *know* I'm going to have to do a sequel for it (as I know that there'll be a sequel for this one. At least this one was always intended to be a two-parter. _Divergence_ is just annoying because I had always intended for it to wrap itself up! But it became too long and involved! ^_^ Damn me!). So it shouldn't be too long…touch wood!

Anyway, enjoy and review. Please. Because reviews are like a Drug. 

Seriously.

But don't do drugs.

Do review – but don't do drugs. M'kay? Awesome -_^

***

George, not being privy to her innermost thoughts, continued, "I would imagine that your brother has more to do with your arrival here than he may have let on."

Alanna stared at him, stared at the man who had been so many things to her in her life – friend, confidante, lover and so much more. Her mind, the part of her that still tried to tell her that this world was not right for her, that Her George was the light of her life in the real world, tried to tell her to believe him. _It was George! George wouldn't lie to you!_ But at the same time…

Well, _this_ George wasn't _her_ George, was he? He'd demonstrated that before, his voice was George's in tone and timbre, but…it wasn't words that he would speak. She knew this – she _felt_ it. Thom wasn't against her, Thom wasn't the one who brought her to this place; it seemed to be so obvious, George was lying.

So she did the only thing she could, really – she laughed at him. A full-throated chuckle, she _really_ laughed. "Oh that's nice," she said through the peals of laughter coming from her, "Of course! It makes so much sense now – So thanks to your supposed 'friend' who I've never met, who may not even _exist_ let alone be correct in what he told you, I now know that Thom is evil? Or is he just misguided or something? Please, George, tell me how bad Thom really is!"

George narrowed his eyes at her in response, "So you don't believe me."

"Oh, of course I believe you," she replied, a sarcastic grin on her face, "But then again, I'm known for being gullible."

"I'm telling the truth, lass."

She snorted at that, "Please, George. Give me a little credit – Thom told me that the two of you don't get on; it's obvious that you're just saying this because you want me to turn against him. While we've been here Thom's done nothing that suggests what you've claimed about him – in fact the opposite, as I said to you. He's helped us despite his heavy workload, gone out of his way to help us. On the other hand, we have you – you who yells at me, you who we've been warned against, you who has _sent letters to us_ _claimed our lives were in danger,_" It was strange, but it was only then she realised that the term 'we' was being used a lot. She wasn't _really_ sure why that was – but she knew that it didn't feel as strange as she'd have once imagined. George and Alanna were 'we', not Jon and Alanna. Was it good or bad that it felt…normal…for Jon and Alanna to be 'we'? She wasn't yet sure. "…well, you'll forgive me if I'm being slightly skeptical of your intentions, George."

"I told you," he hissed in reply, putting his hand on her shoulder and maintaining an intense look into her eyes, "those letters' were _not_ threats, they were trying to _save_ you – from Thom's attentions!"

"Don't touch me."

Seeing her narrowed eyes, perhaps seeing her clenched fists, George lowered his gaze in acceptance, pulling away from her with a sigh. "I told you," he repeated, "They were not threatening. I don't see why you wouldn't be _more_ inclined to believe me because of them, not less."

"How do I know that this threat was genuine?" she replied. "What if you just made it up – wrote letter's to get us paranoid or something?"

"What about the guards who have been killed? I bet they thought the threat was genuine."

She narrowed her eyes again, "They could have been killed by anyone. They could have been killed by you, you could have set up this whole charade so that you could gain my trust. Or perhaps something else of mine."

"What's that supposed to mean?" George queried, confusion playing across his eyes. "Something else of yours?"

Tilting her chin up, she coolly looked at him, "I've seen the way you looked at me." She said softly, "I know that you still feel something for me – for this Alanna. Maybe you were trying to get her again."

"'Get' her? I wasn't trying to 'Get' anything!" He shook his head, "No wait, that's a lie. I was trying to 'Get' you _not_ _killed_! I was trying to 'Get' you safe!"

"From all I've seen," Alanna responded calmly, keeping her teeth clenched, "You're the only one who I need to be kept safe from."

George stared at her, an incredulous look on his face. "Are you-?" he shook his head in disbelief before seeming to come to a decision, nodding to himself. "You're insane, you know that? You just- I don't understand how you can think what you do – I had hoped that since you hadn't been around Thom for as long as you had, uh, as long as the other Alanna, that perhaps you'd see reason and be able to see Thom for what he is. But he must have gotten to you already, you're just as devoted to him as the other Alanna. Just as blind to his crimes."

That piqued her interest, which was surprising, since she had been quite able to block out most of what he was saying beforehand – she knew they were lies, there was no point listening to lies, was there? "What crimes?" she asked, softly, after a beat.

"What crimes?" George repeated, "What, apart from conspiring against you and Jon? That's treason, isn't it? Well, apart from _that_ obvious one-" Alanna pressed her lips together in annoyance, a firm glare settling on her face, but she let him carry on, "-I know for a fact that he's sent men against me, sent Guardsmen, ordered to kill rather than capture."

"How?" she interjected, "How do you _know_ this?"

George shrugged his shoulders in a way that seemed to say _it's complicated_. "I know because I asked the man who lead the kill-team. The man who got his orders from Thom himself."

"So what, he just told you? You're basing this whole accusation thing on the fact that some random guard told you that someone else had told _him_ something?"

"He wasn't lying," George responded. "I-"

"_How could you possibly know_ if he was telling the truth?!" Alanna all but shrieked, a result of the cocktail of despair, anger and frustration which George's visit had visited upon _her_. "He could have been sent by someone else completely! He could have been lying through his teeth!"

"I know because no-one could lie when they were like that!" George responded in a similar yell, his eyes widening as he realised what he had just said.

"What does that mean?" She asked, genuinely confused – although a horrible feeling had crept over her. "What was he like?"

"It's not important." 

"Yes it is, it's very important!" she shot back, "You obviously thought it was important enough to mention, so it _obviously_ _is_ important!"

"It's not." George repeated.

"Just tell me! Tell me what you saw, what you…" she trailed off, a picture forming in her mind. _He couldn't…_But she knew he could – her George hadn't been like that since she had met him, hadn't propagated the same methods that his forbearers had when he 'took the mantle' of the King of the Rogue…but she knew that he had done so in the past. "You tortured him, didn't you?" she whispered, the realization coming so violently and quietly at the same time that she _knew_ it for the truth. As she also knew – and, she guessed, as George must know – that it all but destroyed any chance of her believing his words. "Didn't you?"

George never lowered his gaze as he sucked in a breath, "Yes."

Her only reply was to shake her head, whether in denial, loathing or bitter disappointment she didn't know. But she knew that she couldn't believe him now. "Get out." She said, simply. There was no point to his staying here any longer, she knew that too.

"Alanna," George began, attempting to, in a sense, woo her. "I'm not proud of it, but it confirmed my suspicions! Thom is set against you, don't you see? You _have_ to see it! You're in danger here!"

She waited for him to finish, hot tears forming behind her eyes. She knew that she could never look at this George again, not in the same way as she had done so. His actions were unconscionable to her – though it wasn't quite _this_ that made the tears form. Could she ever look at _her own_ George in the same way again? He could have become this man, this…degenerate…if it were not for her choice. She couldn't have changed him that much, could she? Did he still have this inside him? Was he just hiding who he was from her? She didn't know. "Get out." She stated again, words like iron. At least she knew _that_ – she didn't want him near her anymore.

But this George differed from her's in more ways than simply – simply! - torturing people. Where her George knew to defer to her when she was in this mood, this George stood his ground, back stiffening. "I won't leave," he replied, "Because if I leave, I know that I'll never see you again."

"Fine with me." Alanna interjected, scoffing at him.

"-And if I never see you again," George continued, ignoring her harsh words, "Then I fear that you'll be dead within a month."

"By your hand?"

George, to his credit, seemed able to rise above her baiting – "No." he replied simply, "Not by my hand. By the monster that I've been warning you against all night."

"Ahh, so instead of the torturing scumbag who likes to remain in the shadows, sending ambiguous messages and spreading lies around being the threat to our lives," there it was again – Jon and Her, 'Our lives' "-it's my brother, who loves me and who wants to help me. The brother who stands right in the open, trusted by all."

George swallowed, "Yes."

"Ah, right. You'll forgive me if I don't see it that way." She turned from him, moving back towards the main living quarters. "Now, since you don't appear to be leaving any time soon, I'll just go and get some Guards, alright? I'm sure you're probably well known to them – having tortured one of them."

But George's voice called out behind her, stopping her in her tracks with its weighted urgency. He sounded…older all of a sudden, as if he'd grown ten years in the past ten years. "I haven't lied to you this night, Alanna. If I am the liar you make me out to be, why did I tell you something that I knew would push you away from me? Why did I tell you what I did to the leader of the Guardsmen?"

She blinked; why _had_ he told her that? "Because…" she bit her lip; he was right, it _didn't_ fit, did it? "Because you wanted to do this, to throw in some doubts."

It looked like George almost rolled his eyes, so exasperated did he sound. "Now you're grasping for something," he told her softly. "You're not thinking clearly, and I fear that you haven't been all night."

_That_ got her hackles up again, and she spun around on her heel to glare at him, eyes fiery, "What is that supposed to mean?!"

Hands raised in warding, George took a step back. "No! I didn't mean-!" he sighed heavily, "Look, I just think that you shouldn't dismiss what I said out of hand. Please, Alanna. If for nothing else than…than the friendship we once shared, can you please take care around Thom? Just…don't believe him without question. Consider his words."

She wasn't sure why, but she felt that she should agree to this, to what George was saying. But she couldn't just _say_ that, could she? She still didn't believe George entirely, didn't trust him really. Not in the slightest. But…could it hurt? What he was asking? _What if he's right?_ A small part of her cried, _what then?_ Well…no, George wasn't right, was he? "I-" she stopped, she couldn't tell him yes, she knew that. But…could she say no? _If only for the friendship we once shared_, he had said to her. To be honest, she wasn't sure if even that was worthy of her respecting this…well, it wasn't quite an agreement was it? This George was too different for her to accept those 'terms', but…he was still George. Sure, he was far more tarnished, far more violent and aggressive. She didn't love him, didn't even feel like she _could_ love him, but he was still George. Did she owe it to her George to – perhaps – respect this George's wishes? "I'm not sure."

"Don't answer," George replied, moving as he did so to the window which, to her sudden amazement, she realised was open. "Don't give me an answer, just…think about it."

Alanna shook her head, she had to give him an answer. If not for him, then for her – if she said no now, then it would stop. George wouldn't return, wouldn't try to contact her. _George always respects my wishes…_her gaze fell to her feet; of course, this wasn't _her _George, but she felt that he would do the same.

But if she said yes…Where would that lead? Would George return? Would he try something – try moving against Thom, whatever that might entail? "Yes." She said softly, "I'll consider his words."

When she looked up, he was gone. Out of the window, out of the room, out of earshot. Had he heard her? She wasn't sure.

***

"Alanna!" 

She turned, still in the large antechamber, surprised by Jon's cry from the room behind her.

"Alanna, are you in here!?"

"Here." She called out in response, mind still trying to digest what she had been told and whether George had heard her. "I'm here." Jon rushed in, a wild smile of relief on his face as he did so, and caught her up in a crushing hug. Her exclamation of surprise was cut off by his lips pressing hard against her own; again the feeling of relief flowing form him was palpable. She enjoyed the kiss, as she did all of Jon's affections of late, but she eventually pushed him away from her. "Wh-?" she shook her head, clearing it of what had just transpired – both her doubts and fears arising from George's visit and the fire that raced through her at Jon's touch. "What was that all about?"

A chuckle/sigh escaped Jon's lips, and his smile widened as he continued to hold onto her. He seemed amused by her confusion, as if it was the least of his troubles. "You're here, you're safe."

"Of course I am," she replied, "Why wouldn't I?"

The smile slipped slightly, and Jon turned to the doorway for a moment, "I was still down in the dining hall, still trying to clear up some of the issues our Scanran friends had with things, when a Guard told me that raised voices had been heard here, a man's and your own." He chuckled, "Apparently they hadn't come in to check on their own because once they did so without our knowledge, only finding the two of us…uh…on the bed. Together."

Her face flashed bright red, _that_ certainly would have been embarrassing. Something niggled at her, however – why did it seem…strange as well? "So you came running, hmm?" she banished the errant worry to the back of her mind, she had more important things to worry about than the past sex-capades of herself and Jon. 

Jon nodded, "That's right. I got here as fast as I could, and found you here by yourself." He frowned, the smile completely gone now. "But…were the Guards wrong?"

Biting her lip, Alanna wondered whether she should tell him. She should, she decided – As they had discovered, the two of them needed to stick together while here, the two of them needed to share information and go over it together. She had, of course, found it a lot easier to 'stick' with Jon than she had originally considered, which was both a blessing and a curse. "No, they were right." She replied, "George was here."

"George? What was he doing here?"

Her eyebrows raised, Jon sounded…no, he couldn't, could he? She smirked slightly, "Why, my Lord. We're not Jealous, are we?"

She knew the instant that she said it that it was a bad idea. What kind of answer could he give, and how could such an answer be in any way good? "Uhh…" Jon fumbled for an answer, and she knew that he recognised the awkwardness of it as well. The _situation_ was awkward. After all, if he answered 'yes', then it would appear that Jon didn't believe George should be alone with her. If he answered 'no', then it may appear that he was 'withdrawing' his claim to her, as it were. Not that she would allow herself to be so claimed, of course – just that he wouldn't want to give the wrong signal to her. "This- This is confusing." Jon finally responded, sounding as perplexed as she was.

"I know," she replied, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

Jon waved the apology away, "That's alright. We knew that…doing what we've been doing…would be confusing. I suppose that this is just the first time that we've admitted it to each other."

She nodded to that. "Confusing is the word, oh yes."

Smile firmly reattached, Jon took her hand in his own, and led her over to the bedroom. Sitting on the bed, he pulled her down beside him and turned to face her. "Now, what did George have to say?"

Shrugging, she began to recount what George had said to her. She told how he had surprised her in the darkness, his claims about Thom, and his revelations about the letters and the Guardsman that he had tortured. She told him of his advice to her – to not accept everything Thom had said to them without question. She finished by stating simply that she was confused, more by her own thoughts than by anything in particular George had said. "I didn't believe him at first," she told her perhaps-more-than-friend, "and to be honest I still don't. But…he made a good point at the end, and I could tell that at the very least, _he_ believed in everything that he told me. He didn't lie to me, although whether or not what he knows as the truth is the truth, well. That's another matter."

"So what do you think we should do?" Jon asked.

She smiled – it seemed that Jon too was suddenly struck with a desire to encapsulate the two of them into a 'we'. It was nice, but at the same time it created a sense of uneasiness in her that she knew was related to the 'other we'; of her and George. "I think that we should keep our eyes and ears open," she told him, "to keep a watch out for each other more than anything."

Jon nodded, and she could almost see the wheels spinning in his mind, "We've got to be careful, though." He said, "Careful that we don't isolate ourselves from everyone else."

Frowning, she began to stroke the back of his hand, "Do you believe what George said?"

She noticed him shoot a glance at their entwined hands, a faint smile flashing across his lips. But then he looked away from her, eyes downcast as he answered her. "I don't know," he replied noncommittally, "But I think that we should follow his advice; maybe it's nothing, but…something is up."

"What do you mean?"

He shrugged, "I don't know. Just- I don't know what it is, but something feels…very familiar."

Her frown deepened, "Familiar how?"

"Roger-familiar." His voice was low, "It's the same feeling that I had when Roger returned from the dead. The same kind of obvious and imminent, yet directionless danger."

"What is that supposed to mean?" she asked, a twinge of hurt in her voice. She withdrew her hand from his, "Do you think Thom's like…like _Roger_? Is that what you're saying?" She couldn't _believe_ this – both of them! They both thought Thom was wicked, thought that he wanted to harm her!

"No! No I don't think that!" Jon exclaimed while trying to reassure her, taking her hand back into his own and clasping it tightly. "Nothing like that, nothing so- well, nothing like that, no."

"But…?" she proffered, knowing that he had more to say.

He winced, before continuing in a slow and deliberate voice. He was obviously choosing his words very, _very_ carefully. "But I do agree with George that there's more to Thom than we may have first considered." 

"I can't believe this." She whispered to herself, "I can't- I can't handle this." She stood, pulling out of his grip as she did so. _No!_ her mind screeched, _Thom was her brother! He was alive here, and he was whole! She loved him, and he loved her. _

"Alanna!" Jon rose beside her, placing his hands on her shoulders as she did so. "Please, don't go. Please listen to what I have to say. Just…give me a chance to work something out."

"Work _what_ out?" She questioned, still shocked by this…what felt like a rejection. "What do you plan to do?"

"I think we should see this friend of George's, this one you said had felt the magic."

"Arram?" she said, wondering why Jon was taking this tack. "Why do you want to talk to him?"

"Because I think it would be better to talk to…" he stopped, brows furrowing suddenly, "Did you say his name was Arram?"

She nodded, "Yes, I think so. A refugee from Carthak, George said. Why?"

Jon shook his head in disbelief, another short chuckle leaving his lips. "I can't believe this."

"What? Do you know him?"

It was Jon's turn to nod, "Of course I do. And so do you." He smiled as she frowned at him, "Arram Draper was the name Numair Saliman was born with."

***

"I can't believe you talked me into this," Alanna grumbled as she pulled the hood of her cloak tighter around her. "And why did you have to make me look so…so _ridiculous!_"

She couldn't see Jon's face, not from where she stood at the moment – not pressed so tightly against his chest as she was, but she just _knew_ that he was smirking. "You agreed so easily because deep down you know it's a good idea," Jon replied, and she could hear the amusement in his voice. "Numair will be able to tell us things that might be important." He cracked the whips again, calling out to the horses on the front of the old wagon to get a move along.

"But we don't know that what he will be telling us is the truth!" Alanna fumed as the wooden wagon rocked and jolted her. She pressed herself tighter against him, though for her safety of course – not for any other reason, "He could be lying very, very easily! And you didn't answer my other question."

"He'll tell us the truth," Jon replied, a confidence that came with _knowing_ one was right underscoring his words, "Numair couldn't lie to me – I know he couldn't."

She rolled her eyes at that, she still didn't believe that Jon was thinking all that clearly on this one. He had suggested that the go to see this Arram that night, to find out what he had _actually_ sensed that night, to work out if – at least – George wasn't lying about that. But he had not, as far as she was concerned, considered that Numair – Arram – might lie to them. _Plus_, she thought angrily,_ the illusion spell he cast on me isn't particularly flattering, is it?_

Jon had insisted on doing it himself, and while she thought she could replicate what Thom had done to her a few days ago, she wasn't _totally_ sure. And so she had let him do it, though she wasn't quite as pleased with the result as he was. "And…?" she grumbled, knowing that he'd get the message.

"And you look very nice." Jon replied softly, though more because he would have burst out laughing if he spoke any louder than the presence any real sentiment behind the words. "It looks good on you."

"'It'?!" she repeated, "Why don't you call it by it's proper name!"

Jon shrugged, "I don't know what to call it."

"It's called _two scarves_!" she whispered harshly, mouth pressed right up to his ear. "You made me look like a hussy!"

"Maybe so, but as I said – it looks _very_ good on you."

She glared at him; his illusion was far less revealing, just a slightly different look to his face and some rougher clothing. "When we get back to the palace," she whispered in a far-too-pleasant-tone, "I'm going to make your life such a hell that you'll regret you ever did this."

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "You'll do no such thing." He told her.

"And what makes you think that?"

"Because if you do," he replied, tilting his head down so he could look at her. "I'll make the illusion last all week." He tapped her nose and winked at her. He _winked_ at her.

"Don't wink at me." She growled, frustrated that her attempt at intimidation failed so completely.

"All part of the act, my dear." He said to her, and she rolled her eyes. The 'act', or so he called it, was that she was a rather promiscuous serving girl that he – a (rather well paid) member of the cooking staff would be 'enjoying' for the evening. They'd had to leave the palace because a) He had a list of items which needed to be purchased for tomorrows meals and b) since this excuse wasn't accepted (on the – quite correct - grounds that it was too late for shopping), that they needed to get into the city to 'enjoy' themselves, since they couldn't well do it at the palace. The Guards had taken a long look at her, eyes hot and heavy (she felt like hitting them, but settled for hitting Jon instead), eventually letting them through with throaty laughs and knowing glances. "Now cuddle up closer and give me a kiss."

"You're enjoying this far too much," she said to him, although she obliged in part of his request, pressing herself closer to him. She was so close now that she, quite honestly, couldn't feel where she ended and he began. Her head rested on his shoulder, and his arm was pressed tightly around her shoulders. Her hands rested on his thigh, and she was – if she would admit it to herself – quite content. "I should probably warn you that I'll certainly be exacting my vengeance in time."

"But of course. I wasn't expecting any less. And of course I'm enjoying myself, I always enjoy myself around you."

She blushed at that, "Well then, it's a good thing that we're stuck here together – because I've enjoyed myself around you as well. Of late, anyway." Feeling him smile, she looked up at him. His illusion was strange, she felt. It didn't look like Jon, but then again…his nose was similar, and the cheekbones looked the same. His hair was brown, but his eyes were still that icy blue which always managed to stoke a fire in her rather than freeze. She leant up, placing a hand against his cheek, tracing the skin which _was_ familiar. After all, it was all an illusion.

"That's good to hear." Jon whispered softly. He looked over his shoulder all of a sudden, peering around in the gloom. "I think that's far enough." He said, before mumbling some words under his breath. She couldn't feel anything, but she could see his own illusion shatter – and she knew that he had dispelled their disguise. His own, very familiar, visage smiled down at her, and he tightened his grip around her shoulders. It was strange, but she couldn't remember feeling like this – like the way she felt now, for a very long time. It wasn't just joy, or happiness. She'd felt both of those with George and her children often enough, but _this_…this was sheer contentment. Bliss was a strong word, she knew, but it wasn't far wrong. A wide smile crept across her face, and she pulled down on the hand that still traced Jon's cheeks, dragging his head down so it was close enough. Lifting her own head, she brought her lips onto his; with the hunger she felt inside when they made contact scaring her, if she was honest with herself. She wanted him _so badly_…

They kissed for a long while, Jon's hands beginning to roam around under her cloak, tracing her body through her – thankfully now present - clothes. She moaned into his throat as he began to caress her breasts, her hands massaging the back of his neck as he pulled her onto him. The part of her mind still aware to the outside world worried that they might fall off the wagon, but thankfully they managed to stay onboard. Of course, the vast majority of her focus was given over to experiencing the pleasure and desire which flooded through her, aware of Jon's hands and shifting body in a way that she'd never been aware of anything else in her life. "Jon…"

He pulled away from her, taking deep breath's as his lidded eyes stared into her own – the desire she saw within their blue depths she knew was mirrored in her own. "Alanna," he whispered, "I love you."

"I-" The words died on her lips, though her mind completed the startling revelation – _-love you too._ She loved him; she was _in love_ with Jon. It all seemed to crystallise in her mind; it seemed so obvious that she was amazed she hadn't realised it sooner. She hadn't loved him while she was still with George, of course. It had been a recent development, one which had arrived when _they_ had arrived here together – seeing him next to her in the bed that morning had stirred something else in her besides confusion, it must have done. She hadn't loved him then, either, but she _most certainly_ did now. She loved him, painfully and completely. It felt so comfortable as well; familiar and new at the same time – the same desire and heat that they had felt while they were still Knight and Squire, the burning _need_ for each other, but there was something else, something new. A maturity which accompanied it, a rationality and…_rightness_ to it all. 

But could she tell him? She wanted to, she _desperately_ wanted to; wanted him to know how much he meant to her, and had always meant to her. A friend before, a supporting shoulder and a listening ear, and now so much more. Granted, they hadn't done anything more than a little groping – but she knew that this was true. Realising that had opened something within her, turned a faucet inside which let loose this…rampaging desire. But no, she couldn't tell him. While it felt right, and she knew that it was 'true', she also knew that they wouldn't be staying here forever – that they'd return to their own world one day soon, and that she'd have to return to George. Did she still love George? Could you be in love with two people at once? She didn't know; but it was a little difficult to gauge her feelings for a man who _didn't exist_ where she currently was. She would have to determine that when she returned.

She would also have to determine what she would do about Jon. She loved him, she knew that. He loved her, she knew this too. They wanted each other almost more than words could say, but they couldn't give into this temptation. 

Or could they? As Jon had told her once, and as she had repeated – no-one besides themselves would ever have to know. No-one besides themselves ever _could_ know what happened between the two of them; of things said, of things done. They'd already kissed, they'd already shared more than she thought possible – what more was…_that_ on top? Negligible, no?

She wasn't sure. What she was sure about, and this was that passionate part of her being that pushed the thought forward – was that she _had_ to tell him that she loved him. Something more may come of it, perhaps something bad, but she owed it to him to tell him.

"Jon," she whispered to him, tracing his face with her fingertips as she did so, "I just realised something. Something important."

He was still looking at her, arms still wrapped around her. "Hmm?" his smile was infectious, and she felt her lips spread wide too. She _was_ happy, happier than she'd been in a long time. _This place can't be that bad if I feel like this_, she thought. _I was happy back in our world too, but this was so different. _Alanna was a warrior, a fighter, but she still needed to muster her courage for the next part. _I've fought in wars that made hardened warriors balk, fought battles against impossible odds, but my hearts as fragile as anyone's…_

"I almost couldn't believe it myself, but…something just hit me. Something amazing, _insight_."

Jon continued to look at her, a loving smile on his face. It was at this moment that the old draft horse whinnied, and moved to the side violently, making the wagon creak in protest and shake uncontrollably. Suddenly ashen – the sensation was far too much like sea travel for Alanna's taste – she swallowed her words and grabbed hold of the side of the wagon.

"Mithros!" she heard Jon curse as he let go of her, bringing his hands back onto the reigns. Obviously the horse, all of a sudden untroubled by the incessant tugging on the reigns, had decided to wander off onto far less maintained roads. Just as she thought it, she knew she was right – as one of the wagon wheels suddenly went over (and into) a fairly large hole in the middle of the road. "Hold onto something, Alanna!" Jon cried as the wagon shuddered to a halt, before pushing out of the hole with a violent rock, throwing her forward. Her grip on the side of the wagon faltered slightly, and her body careened off the bench and onto the ground. 

She landed with a thud, her cloak twisting in her legs and around her waist. Thankfully, she had landed on a patch of muddy grass, and hadn't been injured to greatly. Not that Jon knew that, of course, as he flew down from his perch on the wagon bench, crying her name. He reached her, and she felt his arms lifting her to a sitting position. "Are you alright?" she heard him worriedly exclaimed.

She tried to answer, but realised with a start that she had been winded, instead needing to suck in a large breath of air. Jon held onto her shoulders, trying to make her more comfortable. Unfortunately, he wasn't doing all that good of a job, but it was the effort that counted. "I'm fine," she eventually managed to croak out. "How're you?"

His only response was to smile in relief, and throw his arms around her. "Thank the Goddess," she heard him, "Thank Mithros."

She knew then that it was now or never, "Jon," she began, "I need to tell you something." She pried his arms away from her for a minute, and seeing his confused face let out a soft laugh. "Nothing bad, don't worry." She told him, pressing her lips lightly to his own. It was then that she realised just how difficult it was to articulate what she wanted to say, "I just felt like…uhh, I mean, that is to say that I wanted you to know that," she swallowed.

"That what?" Jon offered as she let a long silence stretch out. 

She swallowed once more for good measure, "That I love you. That I'm _in_ love with you." 

His shocked look was all the answer she would get for some time, as she brought her muddied hands up to his face and dragged his mouth down to her own for some time. The same muddied hands eventually worked their way under his shirt, cold fingers pulling buttons loose and dragging material over skin. Her own shirt was also soon discarded, Jon's wet hands moving over her soft skin, leaving trails of contrasting cold and heat; her mind retreated, and her focus shrank to the two of them – to their bodies and to their hands, grasping and clutching, working and stroking, and soon she hardly noticed the cold or the wet at all. Instead, all she noticed was Jon's blazing mouth on her own, and his body moving over hers...

***

They hadn't ended up getting to the Dove; Jon had wanted to talk to George and find out where Arram lived. Instead – after their lovemaking in the muddied grass by the side of a road – they had sheepishly (it was, after all, quite an open place to do such a thing) dressed themselves, soft giggles escaping their lips as they looked at each other and realised just _how_ muddy they were, and hopped back onto the wagon. It wasn't broken, thankfully, after it's mishap, and they managed to get the horse moving back towards the Palace.

Talking to George or Arram simply didn't feel all that important any more.

They had held onto each other in silence, cold bodies pressed against each other for warmth, wet hands entwined with each other. At any other time, Alanna knew that she would have felt miserable – cold, wet and with mud everywhere. But she didn't feel anything of the sort, an internal warmth had grown within her; perhaps an afterimage of the incredible fire the two of them had invoked within each other. She didn't know about that, it seemed a shade too poetic for her liking, but she knew that she could hardly feel the chill at all. They didn't say anything as the horse trotted in front of them, their shared intimacy seemingly leaving them without need for words. 

For the time being, at least. Jon had mumbled the illusion incantation once more when they got close to the Palace gates once more, and – obviously judging by their wide smiles – the Guards assumed that they had 'done their buisness' and were returning._ Which isn't all that far from the truth_, Alanna thought. The Guards began to chuckle again, some whistling and cat-calling the two of them as they moved back into the palace grounds, but she paid no attention. Her focus was on Jon, as it had been all night.

The wagon was returned to where Jon had 'borrowed' it from, and after a quick look at her, mumbled some more words. "Modified the illusion," he said softly to her, the first words they had shared since rising from the muddy ground. She nodded, having already noticed the subtle changes that had been worked into his visage; he was Jon again, but clean. The mud was still there, she could _feel_ it, but judging from what she could see of Jon, obviously no-one would be able to see it. She gave him a smile, thanking him silently, and offered him her hand. He took it quickly, squeezing it slightly as he did so, and the two of them set off for their rooms.

When they reached them, she asked a passing maid to fill their water-tub with hot water, a rather ridiculous request for this hour, but the maid scampered away with nothing more than a slight furrow of her brow. She followed Jon into their room, a small gasp of surprise escaping her as she was immediately taken up in his arms and thoroughly kissed. She returned its' passion with fire of her own, and the two of them reveled in their love in such a fashion for a long moment. Eventually they broke apart when a knock came from the door, the maid having returned with two of her fellows with a number of steaming buckets, which – after assent was given – were taken into a small bathroom and used to fill their tub.

The maids finished in short order, and left hurriedly. Perhaps they had seen the look in their Majesty's eyes, and knew what would be occurring. Perhaps not, Alanna did not particularly care. Almost as soon as the last woman had left, Jon dropped the illusion and their muddied selves came back into sight. Still wide smiles attached to their faces, they began to kiss once more, this time slowly removing the other's clothing. They soon stood together, the mud their only covering, before they made their way into the bathroom and lowering themselves into the water. 

Cleaning was not the only thing that was done afterwards, and the two of them eventually made their way back into their bedroom – falling onto the bed together, exhausted and content, entwined and in love.

***

The next day, Alanna awoke to see Jon's blue eyes staring into her own. She tried to smile in greeting, but her mouth wouldn't stop, and instead she let out a large yawn. Her lover's grin widened, and she could see the amusement dancing in his eyes.

"What?" she asked in a rough voice, trying to force herself awake as she did so. "What's so funny?"

"Did you know that you snore?" Jon whispered as he brought a hand up to push some hair behind her ear. 

She was slightly more awake now, shock spreading through her system, "I do not!" she exclaimed, amazed that he'd ever _suggest_ such a thing. 

He nodded, something she found quite amazing given his currently horizontal position. "You do. But don't worry, it's cute snoring."

"Is that supposed to be some kind of consolation?"

This time he shrugged, instead bringing his lips down onto hers and kissing her awake.

_He didn't play fair, did he?_ She couldn't keep the smile off her face, the love she felt for him suddenly overpowering her ability to control her own body. But she tried her very best to frown at him; she wasn't going to let him get away with this. "I don't snore."

He laughed, "Sorry I mentioned it. But I thought it was interesting."

"Interesting?" She repeated in a disbelieving tone, "My false snoring is interesting?"

"Yep."

"And why is that?"

"Because you look beautiful when you sleep," he told her softly, "And even your snoring doesn't detract from that." She blushed – which was strange, considering how 'close' they had become once again the previous night, she never thought that she would blush again. She saw Jon's smile take on a wicked quality, and she raised an eyebrow in question, "Well, you still look beautiful at least. The pig-like nature of the noises coming from you does detract a _little_, I suppose."

"_Pig-like?!_" she shrieked, "That's it, you're a gonner, mister."

Jon laughed as she launched herself at him, as she delivered small punches to his chest. He tried to fight her off, but she squirmed down under their sheets, pinching his chest and legs. He reached under the covers, grabbing her, and gently pulled her towards him. She rested on his chest, and they stared into each other's eyes; after a beat, she leant down and brought their lips together forcefully. His hands tangled in her hair, and she soon wished all mornings could begin like this.

***

Unfortunately, the two of them eventually had to rise. Gary had apparently heard 'noises' coming from within their room when he had arrived earlier, and had wisely decided that he should give them a little more time.

Apparently he had come past another two times, and it was only on the third time that he felt that his walking into the room could possibly result in his escaping with a firmly attached head. Whether it was Alanna or Jon he was more worried about, he didn't say, although the way he had continually glanced at Alanna as she sat smirking on the bed (dressed and bathed by this time), she had a suspicion that it was her. Which caused her no end of amusement, that Gary would worry that she'd take his head off if he walked in on her and Jon making love…well…she supposed it wasn't all that far-fetched, actually.

Still, he'd managed to 'escape' with head still attached, and had informed the two of them that Jon was required for a state lunch in less than an hour. As often seemed to be the case, Alanna wasn't required to attend. This time, however, she actually _did_ want to attend this one, if only to be close to Jon for a little longer. Jon, however, had claimed that perhaps – since they had not done so last night (his actual words had been "since certain…distractions arose", which made her giggle for a minute. Which itself caused more giggling – after all, the Lioness shouldn't giggle.), she should 'investigate' George's claims. His words had dampened the mood for a short while, causing her to remember something about the previous night which was slightly _less_…happy, but she had soon seen the wisdom of his words.

"Alright," she had told him, "I'll go talk to Thom."

Jon had frowned, "Are you sure that-? Do you think that's a good idea?"

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing, no – I don't know." Jon had sighed, taking a seat on a chair as he pulled on a boot. "I don't think you should talk to Thom alone anymore. We should watch out for each other."

"I'll be fine, Jon." She had assured him, "He's my brother. Besides, if there _is_ something up with him – which I don't think there is, not really – then it would be more suspicious if I stopped coming to see him, wouldn't it?"

Jon couldn't argue with that, and had merely pressed her to 'be careful' a few hundred times before making his way down to meet with Gary. He'd kissed her as he left, and she couldn't shake the feeling that it had been a parting kiss. She didn't want to believe that, however, because it would mean that Jon believed more of what George was saying than she had been led to believe. But no, she knew that it wasn't what Jon was thinking – _if he really thought you were in danger,_ her mind said sensibly, _then he wouldn't have allowed you to go alone. He knows you're skilled and capable of protecting yourself, but he's never been accepting of you rushing into danger without him to stand by your side. _

And wasn't that the truth. 

_George isn't like that…_No, no he wasn't. George accepted the fact that she'd do dangerous things, and that she'd be able to protect herself. George respected h- No, she couldn't say that. Jon respected her and her abilities too, she knew this. He had often sent her out into the field when she was his Champion; she couldn't say that he didn't respect her abilities. So why was he so…anxious now? 

Was it because of what they had done recently? Was he more worried about her because of what had happened between the two of them? Was he going to treat her differently simply because she reciprocated his love for her? She wasn't sure, although she _was_ sure that she'd rather he didn't treat her any differently. She loved him for how he had been in the past and how he had acted to her here – she didn't want him to start acting differently, as it could…

She stopped – _as it could cause problems in the future._ Future? She and Jon had a future now? She frowned; she shouldn't think like that. Jon and she wouldn't be together when they returned to their own world, she knew this had to be. They both had spouses, and they both had children. She loved George (or at least, she amended, she _thought _she still loved him), and she especially loved her children. Following her heart to Jon would simply tear their families apart; she couldn't deal with that, she couldn't handle the guilt.

What guilt she could handle, however, was that accompanied by what the two of them had done while they were here. And, she thought with a small smile, what they would hopefully continue to do. It would be hard to stay away from Jon when they returned, but she could do it. She would have to.

But she didn't have to stay away from him while she was here…

With a smile on her lips as she remembered the night they had shared, consummating their love, she made her way to the Western Wing and towards Thom's chambers.

***

The door was on fire again today, which irked her.

"Thom!" she yelled, "Thom it's me! Can I come in?" There was no immediate response, so she waited. And waited, and waited a little more. After a while, she tried again. "Thom! Are you in there? It's me!"

Again, no response. Frowning, Alanna thought about her options. She could wait for Thom outside, go back to her rooms or to see Jon again, or have a quick look around Thom's rooms. She thought that he wouldn't be very long away; no-one had mentioned anything of the sort, but the simple fact that Thom _very_ rarely seemed to be out of his rooms implied that he felt more comfortable there than anywhere else. Thus, he'd try and keep his trips outside as short as possible. Could she go in? She could, of course – perhaps the question was _should_ she go in. That was a trickier decision.

_But you're not expecting to find anything, are you? So why should you worry if Thom comes back early – he's not done anything wrong, and he's not the man George claims he is._ She nodded at the thought, _Quite right._ The flames irritated her, but she knew they were harmless. An illusion, like that Jon had utilised the previous night to hide them from the Guards. Sucking in a deep breath, and keeping her eyes firmly closed, she placed her hand on the door. She knew from her memory of the door that her hand was now directly where the flames were; they should be lapping at her wrist.

But nothing – indeed, they were all illusory.

She cracked an eye open, and seeing that her hands were fine, let her mouth split into a grin as she pushed the door open slowly and walked in. Thom obviously that the flames were protection enough from people sneaking around his rooms – he hadn't even locked the door behind him. Closing it softly behind her, Alanna took a quick look around the chambers that she could see.

Thom wasn't a particularly neat person, or so it appeared, as papers and scroll-cases lay strewn around the room with no apparent pattern. Experiments of one sort or another cluttered on the desktops and any other flat surface; she really couldn't see a single piece of wooden surface, given how much junk was crammed onto them. Small vials bubbled away in jars while a large vat of brown liquid sat in one corner, fermenting slowly. Lifting an eyebrow, Alanna realised just how disgusting this room was – messy to the extreme, she knew that she'd never find anything in here. Not easily, at least.

Did she even want to try? Maybe she should just sit down on the couch, sweep off the papers and sit down. Maybe she should head out the door as quickly as she should, wait for her brother to return and talk to him then. Maybe she should get out of the room and then find her way downstairs, find Jon and keep him company. She liked that idea, but she also knew that she couldn't do it – she needed to find something to prove to Jon and George that Thom wasn't the man they thought he was. No – she couldn't leave, but that didn't mean she should snoop around.

But a little snooping couldn't hurt, right? Oh, sure, she wasn't going to touch any of Thom's experiments, or speak out loud any incantations or whatever, but she could read some of the papers, try and discern what Thom was doing with said experiments, and so forth. Yes, that would work – she wasn't doing anything _really_ intrusive, was she?

No, of course not. Happy with her decision, she made her way over to the largest desk in the room, the one Thom had been sitting at the last time she came to visit him yesterday afternoon. It was a huge piece of furniture, heavy mahogany finish making it quite…depressing would be the word she'd use. It had drawers, obviously someplace that Thom would put more 'vital' pieces of information, but she didn't think that she could justify rifling through Thom's drawers' to herself. So she settled for shuffling through the papers, having a look at them and attempting to work out quite _what_ Thom was doing. And by that, she meant the small vial of clear liquid which sat bubbling away on the top of the table. Thom had cleared a space around it, which clearly indicated to her that it was either highly important, or that it was highly dangerous. Either way, she didn't want to touch it. 

After a few moments of squinting, turning the paper around and generally attempting to decipher the meaning of what it was she was holding, she decided that she wasn't going to have much chance of working it out; the formulae were too complicated, the terminology too convoluted – she just couldn't comprehend what it was that Thom was doing on this particular experiment. With a shrug of the shoulders, she went over to one of the smaller desks, and attempted to find out anything about _this_ experiment as well. This one was given slightly less room than the other, it being a simple ball of black stone which sat on a metal frame. She hadn't the slightest idea of what it was supposed to be, or do, but she wasn't quite willing to touch this one, either. Suddenly, She thought she heard a slight breeze behind her, but when she turned around she saw that the door was still closed. Frowning as what sounded like soft flowing wind continued to assault her ears, she shrugged her shoulders and turned back to the papers on the desk. Again, these proved far too complex for her to understand, although at least this time she was able to work out what the experiment (or at least, she _thought_ it was referring to the experiment) was called; the phrase _Mnemonic Specularum _cropping up a number of times.

"Mnemonic Specularum," she repeated softly to herself, "I wonder what that does."

"It sifts' through things," came Thom's voice from behind her, "A talisman of sorts that disassembles information based upon what the user wants."

Alanna spun around, shocked, and dropped the piece of paper she was holding as she clutched at herself in shock. "Thom!" she panted, taking in deep breath's to steady her nerves, "You're back! When did that happen? I didn't even hear you come in."

Thom didn't reply, staring seriously at her for a moment. He soon broke their gaze, moving over to his large desk and placing a brown parcel beside the elixir of clear fluid. It was only then, with his back turned to her, that he replied. "Just this moment," he said softly, "Although at first I thought you were a burglar of sorts."

"Burglar?" she queried, "What kind of thief would attempt to steal from someone of your power and standing?"

It might have been her imagination, but she felt sure that – for a brief moment – Thom had chuckled at that. "Why, Alanna. It is for _those very_ reason's that thieves attempt to steal from me. Particularly," he stressed, turning around to face her with a grim expression on his face, "When the thief is another user of magic."

She supposed it made sense, although she'd never really considered that wizard's had rivals or anything of the sort. That was probably a naïve viewpoint, come to think of it. She had once thought that Knights were too noble to have petty competitions among each other, but she had since realised that such a view was very, very wrong. Wizards' were human too, of course. "Does that happen often?" she asked, "Do you have to…ward against burglars?"

Thom nodded, "The door is warded. Anytime someone crosses the threshold I am aware of it. I knew that someone – not that it was specifically you – had entered here. I came rushing back, expecting to see someone else." He smiled at her, "Thankfully I don't have to worry about that now, not about the possibility that He had gotten through again. Thankfully it was just you."

She hadn't missed his stressing of that 'Him', and – despite their current positions (and despite the fact that she still didn't know if Thom was alright with her simply entering his chambers uninvited), she decided to ask him. "Who?" she queried, "You said that you didn't have to worry about the possibility of it being Him? Whose this 'him'?"

Thom waved his hand, "No-one of importance. Just a thief who has managed to evade capture so far and who has broken in here a few times."

She pressed her lips together, _George. It has to be George._

"It's not George."

Alanna blinked. "Did you-? Did you just read my mind?"

Thom shook his head, "I'm powerful, but not that powerful. But I know you, Alanna. I know how you think. And trust me when I tell you that it's not George."

"Oh." She replied – was that good or bad? "Well, that's…uhh…anyway. So if you know it's not George, do you know _who_ it is?"

He shrugged, "Not really. I have a suspicion, but it's not proven yet. But it will be soon, and then the Guards' will have him. Of course, I would have liked to have gotten my hands on him myself – which is why I came rushing back here, but the Guards will ensure that justice will be done."

"Who do you think it is?" she didn't know why she continued to probe him, but she had a feeling that it was important.

"You wouldn't recognise the name," Thom sighed, quietly moving past the table and taking a seat in a chair, crushing papers beneath him as he did so, "But I suppose no harm comes in your knowing. Like I said, he's a wizard like I am. From Carthak, or so I believe. A master there, apparently, although their system is woefully inferior to our own, so I don't think he'd even measure up to one of our Initiates. Now, what was his name…" Thom tapped his lips in thought, a glint in his eye. An action which, prior to last night, she would have considered nothing more than a strange tic on his part. But now…George's words _had_ caused a worm of doubt to enter her mind, she was sure of that now. Just as she was sure that this man, the one Thom was describing, was awfully familiar. "I'm sure it was A-something. Aaron or something, I'm not sure."

Alanna felt her mouth go dry, and she quietly worked to get moisture back into it. She couldn't believe it – she had believed (well, not really. But she had…accepted parts of it at least) the word of this man? His word told through George? "Was it Arram Draper?" she asked, softly.

"Ah yes," Thom replied, nodding. "That was it. Shifty kind of person, from what I know of him. Something about how he killed a few people to escape Carthak and how he displeased the Emperor Orzone prior to his fleeing the country." He cocked his had, intense amethyst eyes locked on hers. "How did you know of him?"

_Think carefully, Alanna. As much as this Numair may be a villain, best leave things alone here. _"Someone by that name had a similar story back in our world. I just remembered that, that's all." Thom smiled, nodding softly as he sank back into his seat. She cleared her throat, deciding to steer the conversation away from this potentially dangerous topic. "Sorry about coming in here without asking you, it's just that I didn't want to wait out in the hallway."

Her brother smiled, and waved a hand. "Don't worry about it."

Alanna let out a soft sigh of relief, Thom didn't care that she'd been in here – that was good. As it was also good to learn that Numair's word couldn't be trusted, that he was a scoundrel and a murderer. She knew Thom couldn't be the things George had said he was. Speaking of which…"Speaking of thieves," she began, wanting to tell Thom about George's visit. She wasn't quite sure _why_ she wanted to tell him, but she just knew that she did. _Of course, I just want to place my trust back in him,_ her mind whispered. _I feel like I betrayed him when I accepted parts of what George told me – now I want to make it up to Thom. I owe it to him._ "George Cooper came to me last night."

Thom continued to laze back into his seat, "Oh yes?" he asked, absentmindedly. "What did he have to say?"

Did she want to tell him? She could palm him off, couldn't she? Well, she could, but she owed it to him to tell him the truth. "Basically? He spent his whole time lying. Stories that tried to discredit yourself, and to try and drive a wedge between me and Jon." Was it? She'd thought that once while George was talking to her; perhaps it _was_ what George had wanted all along. Yes, of course.

"George and I have never gotten along well," Thom said to her in an offhand fashion, "I've told you that before."

She nodded, "I know, and I know that what he was telling me were lies." She chuckled softly, "And to think, he even claimed that you were the one behind bringing us here."

Thom frowned at her, "What a weird thing to say. Why would he believe that?"

She shrugged, "I don't know! He said something about how large amounts of magic were sensed here that night, but – even if it was the truth! – it doesn't mean anything. He's lying outright and twisting the truth so that they fit his motives, I know this now."

"How would he have sensed the magic?" Thom asked softly, his tone of voice reassuring. "Cooper's Gift is too weak to sense things like that."

"Oh no, George couldn't feel it. His friend Arram told him abou-…" her eyes widened as she realised what she had said, and she closed her mouth with an audible snap._ Why had she said that?_ Had Thom noticed? It didn't seem to be so, as Thom continued to lean back in his seat with a content smile on his face. 

"Well," Thom said as the silence began to stretch out. "It's disheartening to think that Cooper's still got a chip on his shoulder against us – against You, Jon and myself – after all these years. I had hoped that he could move on, but he's obviously still trying to tear you away from Jon and I."

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. _Why had she said it? She had _purposefully_ not said anything beforehand – how could she just let it slip out like that?!_ She just didn't know. 

The silence continued to stretch, and Alanna became increasingly uncomfortable. Her eyes settled on the package that Thom had brought with him, and she frowned slightly. It was a particularly odd shape, very bumpy and surprisingly small. "What's in there?" she asked softly, biting off her words just in case her tongue got away from her.

"What?" Thom responded – obviously he hadn't been paying much attention. "Oh, in the package. Just something I got this morning for a spell I'm working on."

"Can I see?" Alanna asked, genuinely curious all of a sudden. She wanted to see what was in the package – what was so important that Thom had left the sanctuary of his room to collect it. It just _had_ to be something exotic, didn't it? Something amazing that she'd never even _dreamed_ of beforehand.

Thom frowned at that, "I'm not sure if it's wise…" he cautioned, trailing off.

"Please?" Alanna put on her best pouting face, hoping that it would still work on Thom as well as it had when they were younger. "Please?" she batted her eyelashes at him, causing her brother to chuckle.

"Alright, fine!" she continued to pout, and his chuckles became full laughs. "I said alright!" he managed to repeat through the laughter, "Please stop with the look!"

"Thanks, brother." She replied with a smile, leaning over his shoulder to peer down as Thom worked at the packages strings.

"Anytime, sister." Thom said with a sardonic tone, obviously exasperated by her actions. Still, he was taking them in good humour, able to laugh at her behaviour. He attacked the package after that, eventually getting frustrated at the strings and cutting the rest of them off with a small slice of magic. The wrapping fell away, and where Alanna expected to see…well, she wasn't quite sure of what she was going to see. Perhaps…the sap of a tropical tree, or the wings of a dragonfly, or some other kind of wizardly-arcana, she saw two simple gems. "That's it?" she wondered aloud.

"What do you mean 'that's it'?" Thom said, confusion lacing his tone. "They're marvelous!"

"They're just stones."

Thom gaped at her, "Yes, but what stones they are! Amazing craftsmanship – the finest amethyst and sapphire that you will find in the entirety of Tortal!"

Something clicked in Alanna's mind at hearing that, but she couldn't tell quite what. Something…something about those particular gems, and the…No. She didn't know, _something_ was irking her however. With a final frown at the gems – which Thom scoffed at, obviously thinking it a look of disdain rather than one of confusion, she bid her brother goodbye. "Bye, Thom." She said softly, just catching his reply before she made her way out into the hallway.

Almost as soon as she did so – as soon as she took a step over the threshold, two things happened. One, a headache began clawing it's way into the forefront of her mind, and two – she realised what had made her wonder at the gems in the room. An amethyst and an emerald, the 'gems' that Thom had wanted to get from a man called Blayce, a name which rang a bell in her mind – a name which just _would not come_ to her. She did, however, feel a great sense of fear and loathing at the name, as if it's wearer was such a man that even though she couldn't remember exactly who he was, she could still feel that he was a despicable sort. His impact was so telling, as it were, that she didn't even need to remember him to know his evil.

So why was her brother associating with him? Two more questions entered her mind – why had she talked more freely than she had intended in front of him, and why was she now suffering from a headache? 

A sudden, horrific thought entered her mind, and she immediately changed direction, heading down towards the Gardens and to where – she hoped – Jon was. One thought was racing in her mind – _We have to talk to Arram Draper as soon as we possibly can…_


End file.
